


Save Me

by cloudysmiles



Series: To Fall, To Catch [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Cute, Dark, Do forgive me, Feels, First time writing this, I have no bloody idea what I'm doing, Love, M/M, Romance, School, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 12:10:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudysmiles/pseuds/cloudysmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Johnlock/Teen!lock</p><p>John has just met his new roommate. Though distant and cold, John is drawn to him. But both boys have secrets of their own that no one but themselves know, dangerous and dark. And ever since John met his new roommate, both their lives are starting to change. In the end all they might really have is each other. </p><p>A story of love and friendship. And how these two extraordinary boys save each other… from anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Curly Haired

“You faggot.”

_One blow to the abdomen._

“Freak. Fight back”

_Another blow._

_Blood._

_Vision blurred._

_Pain._

“Oi!”

_Another voice._

_Can’t see._

_Darkness._

“Is he going to be alright?” He asked the school nurse and the nurse smiled and nodded, “what happened?” She asked as she compressed some cloth to the beaten boy’s bruises and there was a warm cloth laid upon his forehead.

John couldn’t smile back. “Anderson and his gang beat him up.” He stared at the boy who laid unconsciously on the bed, sadness and anger in his eyes. This wasn’t the first time he saw a bully in action, but it was never really as bad as this.

The nurse sighed. “There’s nothing you can really do about it, John” The nurse knew him because he was always there whenever he injured himself playing football. A sprained ankle, a broken wrist… a dislocated shoulder. And as she would bandage him, or clean his wounds, they would talk in between John’s hisses of pain. He was there often enough to be able to call the school nurse a friend.

John clenched his fists. “There has to be something Lily.” Only John could call the school nurse by her first name. No other student could, Lily didn’t like it. But if it was John, then it was alright. It wasn’t that she was attracted in any way to the 16 year old-she was after all, 28- she just felt that John was different. Unlike the other boys who would whistle, or flirt with her, John respected her.

“I’m sorry John. But bullying is a force that is unstoppable.” She said in a sad voice.

John said nothing and continued to stare at the broken boy that still lay unconscious. The boy, with his messy curly black hair and prominent cheekbones, couldn’t have been older than 15. John then tried to figure out who the boy was, only realizing that he has never seen him around before. He knew all the students, not all by name but definitely by faces. This face however was new to him.

“Lily? What’s his name?” John asked softly, although there was a hint of anxiety in his voice.

“I thought you already knew… hmm let me check.” She went to the computer and typed in something after John gave her a blank stare. Not knowing the name, class or even dorm room she entered the physical details she could see on the curly haired boy. His height, skin color and hair color etc… John found this extremely odd when he found out that the school had records of his physical appearance, and so did Lily. He never understood the use of it really, why couldn’t they just have normal ID cards like every other school? Lily said that they were working on that. However at the moment, he was grateful for the system.

“Ahh found him.” Lily whispered, and if John wasn’t anxiously waiting for her answer he would have missed it. He looked towards her direction, he wasn’t allowed near the computer.

“I’m not surprised you don’t know him John, he just arrived today.” She said softly.

A boy beaten up on his first day of school? Bullied on his first day of school. It wasn't the beginning of the year so the curly haired boy must have come form another school as well. Was it the same then? Did he come here for a new change? John pondered. He clenched his fists tightly until he could feel his nails digging into his palms. He was so pissed off. Although he hardly knew him, he cared. He didn’t know why exactly but he did. He always did, for anyone. Despite his tough football look, he always cared about others. He saw that in his mom, The way she cared for everyone, including his drunken father. He loved her more than anything.

“oh.” He heard a silent gasp coming from the person staring at the screen,

“What is it?” He whispered

“He’s… your new roommate. He was supposed to move in today.” She said carefully.

“What?!” He exclaimed in a loud whisper. He had no idea. His previous roommate left-more like was forced to leave-because of a theft incident. He had gone two months living alone in his dorm room and he was the only one in the whole school who did. It was good, he didn’t like his former roommate and he was alright being alone. He didn’t mind though if this boy was his new roommate. Maybe I could look after him, he thought. Then chuckled because he found it silly for it seemed like he was a babysitter.

“What’s his name?” He continued to stare at the boy. Bruises turning purple, clean because Lily had cleaned him up. He watched the rise and fall of the boy’s chest and seemed mesmerized by the boy’s face. The curly haired boy had his mouth open in a small “o” and his breathing was calm .

“His name is… Sherlock Holmes”


	2. Cold

“… brother of Mycroft Holmes?” John asked as quietly as he could.

“Yes…” She whispered back.

 _Oh._ Mycroft was the senior head boy of their school. He was basically the _king_ of the head boys, therefore the _king_ of them all. John and him didn’t really talk but neither had a problem with each other. John liked to stay out of trouble, as he was sure that Mycroft has eyes and ears in every corner of the school. He was surprised though that the head boy wasn’t in the office with him now, surely he knew that a beating took place? And surely he knew that it was his brother who received the full impact of the beating? Still, John thought, Mycroft would be angry… and he would punish those who were responsible. He almost felt sorry for them, but then remembered that they were vile.

“I wonder if his brother is as robotic as he is.” Lily whispered, and John was startled slightly. She now stood beside John looking down at the poor boy who still lay unconscious.

John chuckled. “Perhaps. I hope not.” Mycroft was known as a robot by the student body, and maybe even by teachers. He was emotionless, his face always a calm and unfazed expression. He was perfect of course for senior head boy, he knew how to handle situations and even at the most frustrating times, he would still be calm and cool. He has yet to see Mycroft even smile. Somehow he thought maybe if Mycroft sees his bruised brother, maybe he’d see some emotion.

The boy suddenly stirred. And his eyelids fluttered as he took a deep breath. His hands went to his stomach and then he touched his throat, then he breathed out. He looked around without moving, then sat up quickly.

He groaned.

Dammnit that hurt. His vision blacked out for a bit and he suddenly felt the throbbing of his head again. When his vision returned slightly, his eyes widened at the scene in front of him. A woman in a white uniform had her hand on his shoulder lightly, her face incredibly close and her eyes searching his. Then he noticed the muscular boy who stood behind her and instinctively he drew back, afraid of the boy with the blonde hair.

“Hey it’s alright.” The woman said in a gentle voice, “no one’s here to hurt you, not in here.” She said reassuringly. The boy looked at her then to the boy behind her, unsure. He wanted to make a deduction but he couldn’t, he wanted to figure everything out but he couldn’t for his vision was still unclear and his head was too painful to be of any use at the moment.

“I won’t hurt you. Don’t worry.” The boy with the blonde hair reassured, but kept his distance, as he was afraid to frighten him.

Sherlock searched the boy’s face and body language as his vision cleared. There was still the throbbing in his head but he was able to deduct from the boy that he wasn’t in any way positioned to attack him and his face was solemn and worried. When Sherlock realized this he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and his body relaxed. When he did this though, he suddenly felt that he was aching all over. He checked his abdomen and forearms to find blue patches, some small like the size of fingertips and some as big as a tennis ball. He sighed. Nothing ever really changed.

“I’m sorry about those, I wish I had arrived sooner.” John had watched the boy examine himself, and he winced as he saw the marks that Anderson and his gang left behind. He couldn’t help but feel guilty, if he was there sooner he would have been able to stop it.

Sherlock looked up, surprised at the blonde boy who spoke. Was he apologizing for what happened? It was no way his fault… _so why?_ The nurse handed him some painkillers and a glass of water. He took them gratefully, only looking away from the boy when he nodded to the nurse as she gave it to him. The painkillers took effect quickly and although the pain wasn’t completely gone, they were fading. This allowed Sherlock to think and to deduce the blonde haired boy in full.

After a moment of awkward silence as Sherlock stared at the boy, John cleared his throat loudly.

Sherlock looked up into the boy’s eyes, his face blank. Even in pain, even in confusion, his face was blank. “Why?”

“Excuse me?” John asked

“Why did you save me?”

“How did y-“

“Why else would you be here?” The curly haired snapped.

“I-I don’t know. I guess I couldn’t just stand there and watch.”

“You could have walked away.”

“It would have eaten me alive if I did.”

“You didn’t have to. I don’t need your help.”

John stared at the boy in bewilderment. All he expected was a simple ‘thank you’ and he would have made him feel as welcome as he could, John would have comforted him and they would have easily become good friends. But no, this curly haired boy with his stupid cheekbones was as ungrateful as they come.

“Fine.” John muttered. Pissed off, John walked out of the clinic’s office without a glance back and didn’t stop until he reached his dorm room.

Sherlock was surprised with the boy’s response. He expected a few swear words, a few name calling and even a punch. None of that happened and suddenly Sherlock could feel an unfamiliar feeling, the feeling of guilt.

“Hm. That was a bit rude don’t you think? He did after all save you.” Lilly shook her head. Sherlock hadn’t really noticed her and he glared at her, annoyed. He was about to voice his deduction about Lily having a very secret and illegal part time job outside school when he smelled a familiar fragrance enter the room.

“Sherlock.”

He turned his head to face the source of the voice and smell, coldness in his eyes with an expression of nonchalance.

“Mycroft.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. I feel that this is too short but I do hope that you guys like it. I have three days of exams left and after that I will probably dedicate most of my time writing hehe. Please do comment your opinion about it, no matter what it is. I do appreciate that. I'll try and post another chapter tomorrow, and please do wish me luck for the dreadful maths exam I have third and fourth tomorrow. I hope this isn't boring... your opinion on this is very valuable to me hehe (:


	3. Hey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hello could be the start of something magical and beautiful"

John, upon entering his dorm room, frowned in disgust at what he saw. He forgot about the ungrateful boy in the nurse’s office and instead focused on the fact that he had a new roommate that was going to arrive soon. He could just leave the way things are and let his roommate clean up for himself, or he could set his moods aside and clean up the mess he had made over the course of two months. John was annoyed but he figured that making someone else clean up his mess was something Anderson or a douchebag would do. Even if he was annoyed at the boy he saved, he was angry with the boys who beat that boy up.

 

John sighed and then sniffed.

 

There was a foul smell that John only noticed now. Now that he focused on it, he felt like asking for a new dorm room and telling them to burn this one down. It was just a mess. All the dirty and sweaty clothes of the past two weeks were piled in one corner, he had been too lazy to bring them down to the laundry room. There were at least two pizza boxes on his desk. There was cheese somewhere under the bed and take out boxes scattered around. His books, both school and leisure, were everywhere. His closet door was slightly ajar and he cringed at the state the inside was in. His clutter occupied the whole room, including the other bed on the other side, which had pieces of handouts and notebooks all over.

 

John sighed again and held his breath. It really did stink. John cursed pizzas and take-out boxes and sweaty clothes.

 

At the start of the year, teachers would do monthly routine checks on the state and content of the dorms. Ensuring hygiene and making sure there were no illegal substances hidden somewhere. There would be punishment of course if the rooms weren’t up to standard. The same teacher did it every month for their dorm and as months passed, the frequency of the visits lessened. Then they stopped altogether and so John did not have the motivation nor the care to keep his room in tip-top boarding school shape.

 

Especially without another roommate to worry about. John sighed then grimaced as he rolled up his school jumper to pick up a moldy piece of cheese that was stuck behind the door.

 

“You would think that you could at least stay out of trouble on your first day.”

 

Sherlock groaned. “Wasn’t my fault.”

 

For a moment there was a flash of sorrow in Mycroft’s eyes as he looked at his beaten brother. But it was just a moment and no one saw it, not even Sherlock.

 

“Sure it wasn’t. What did you say now?” Mycroft sighed, returning to his monotone.

 

“I told him that his girlfriend was cheating on him, and that no one wanted him on the football team because he was a horrible player. And also that he was forced to come here as he was using -and sill does- drugs.”

 

Mycroft sighed again.

 

“It was simply truth. He was bothering me, so I figured it would shut him up.”

 

“Well it shut you up for a bit didn’t it?”

 

Sherlock remained silent and glared at Mycroft. Oh how he loathed him. Mycroft was always better than him, always the perfect son and always the smartest. It annoyed him to no end.

 

“and so?” He asked, after a moment of silence. They were still in the nurse’s office and Lily was just cleaning up a bit. Sherlock now sat at the edge of the bed, his hands on either side of his long slender legs.  The pills were strong and the pain had numbed, so he sat quite comfortably. Mycroft stood by the clear door just opposite Sherlock, his hands in the pockets of his blazer.

 

“You were lucky for that boy to have saved you in time.”

“I didn’t need _saving._ ” He sneered

“Oh please. For once, be grateful.  That boy is after all your roommate”

 

Sherlock’s eyes widened at this for a moment.

 

“I refuse.”

“You don’t have a choice brother _dear._ ” The older Holmes smugly taunted.

 

Sherlock glared again. He knew that Mycroft could change his dorm room without hassle if he wanted to.

 

“Could it be, Sherlock, that you feel guilt for being so rude and so you were counting on never seeing him again?” Mycroft laughed.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous. I just prefer a room to my own.” Sherlock snapped.

 

“John knows you’re his roommate. You can’t really back out now since I presume that he is doing some cleaning right as we speak.”

 

Again, Sherlock’s eyes widened. And Mycroft knew the question in his eyes.

 

“He only found out today. Didn’t he Lily?”

 

Lily looked up, she was ignoring them both, but nodded a ‘yes’ to Mycroft’s question.

 

“why?” Sherlock asked.

 

 

“It was a last-minute thing Sherlock, I wanted to surprise him. Plus I had other things to prepare-“

 

“No. You just didn’t want to give him the chance to back out.”

 

Mycroft was silent.

 

“Why him?”

 

Again Mycroft was silent. His eyes flashed and he smiled.

 

“He would never hurt you.”

 

Sherlock cocked his eyebrow, confused and willing to give a curt response, but before he could say anymore Mycroft spoke again.

 

“Come.” He pivoted on his heel after thanking the nurse on behalf of his brother.

 

For once Sherlock obliged without complaint. He jumped off the bed quickly, and hissed as some of the pain returned. He took a deep breath and followed his older brother.

 

“You’re welcome. I hope I don’t see you here again.” She said with a smile as she watched the Holmes boys walk out.

 

2 hours and 25 minutes later John finds himself utterly exhausted. It seemed to him that cleaning a dorm room was far more work than doing 2 hours of football training. He was proud of himself though. As he looked around, slightly panting, he didn’t recognize the room at all. The pizza and take-out boxes had been thrown out, the laundry had been sent to the wash and his books were piled up neatly on the shelf on his side of the room. He had changed the sheets as well, with the help of one of the keepers and the room was vacuumed and the smell was gone. Papers were put into a binder and his closet was arranged. He grinned, glad that he didn’t have classes until tomorrow and popped into the shower.

 

Sherlock was exhausted and was in pain, but he did not dare show it. Mycroft could see though, and after giving his younger brother a tour and telling him the rules (which Sherlock ignored), he decided that it was time to head for his dorm.

 

“Next time don’t wander in then we can avoid situations like this morning.”

 

“Mother sent me in, told me to look for you inside.”

 

“Should have gone to the office.”

 

“Mother told me to look for you inside” Sherlock repeated.

 

Mycroft sighed.

 

After gathering all the necessary things from the senior head boy office, he gave his brother a tour of the campus. Every time he would tell Sherlock a place, he would either get a groaned “dull” or he would receive silence, which indicated that Sherlock was interested. They hardly talked during the tour, and neither were bothered by it.

 

When they reached room 221 building B, Sherlock’s interest heightened and his tiredness seemed to have disappeared. The dull brown wooden door was on the ground floor and it faced the Building B quad. Everything was bright as the sun shone without a cloud in the sky, and it seemed to shine down at the dorm room door. It seemed to glow.

 

Mycroft knocked, three soft taps. He looked at Sherlock briefly, as if gauging whether his brother was ready or not. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, uncaring. But Sherlock’s stomach twisted as he heard footsteps, the twisting of the knob and the opening of the door.

 

“Hey”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooohh. I am terribly exhausted. It's 1am and I have another exam tomorrow... but because I love everyone who has the patience to read this little story of mine... here's an update (: I hope that you like it, and do tell me what you think of it. It's coming, I promise. I hope this isn't boring . . . Anywaaaay thanks for reading and I am sorry for any mistakes I have made.. both in language and in facts. Love you allll and wish me luck (:


	4. Hello

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There are many things in this world that we do not understand and it takes time and patience to finally accept and realise." 
> 
> \- A

John already had an idea on who would be at the door. Sooner or later his new roommate would arrive. John was nervous, he would never admit it but he was afraid of what the newcomer might think. John had excused the actions and words of the boy he had saved, he didn’t understand it but he let it go.

 

So when there were taps on the door, he wasn’t angry at all, in fact he was quite anxious. He made sure everything was straightened out, including his school uniform and went to open the door.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Hello John.” Mycroft greeted, and John was slightly surprised.

 

“May we come in?”

 

“Of course.” John held the door ajar and welcomed them in, and his heartbeat quickened as a familiar face walked in.

 

 There was silence for a moment as the two young boys made eye-contact, Sherlock with deducing eyes and John with anxious ones. Mycroft looked between the two and chuckled.

 

“What.” The boy with curly haired snapped.

 

So cold. Why is his voice so cold? John wondered, even to his own brother? And… did Mycroft just chuckle? John looked at the head boy wondering if he imagined it.

 

“Oh nothing brother. Just a funny thought.” Mycroft smiled

 

Was Mycroft Holmes smiling?  Maybe he wasn’t so robotic after all, John slightly smiled at this.

 

Sherlock choose to ignore his brother’s answer, whatever was going on in that funny head of his brother was not what was on his mind at the moment. His mind was reeling with questions and ideas, as it always does. He looked about the room with his eyes. His body was stiff and tense.  The fragrance of cleaning solutions had hit his nostrils just as soon as he entered the room, and the ironed sheets suggested newly changed. Minimal dust was present, and most have been moved, telling him that the books were recently arranged.

 

“You didn’t have to.” He muttered as he looked at the blonde haired boy.

 

“Excuse me?” John asked questioningly.

 

“You didn’t have to clean up.”

 

“I don’t kn-“

 

“What my brother means to say is thank you.” Mycroft interjected, with a smile and a warning glace at Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

 

John was still confused and was about to reply but Mycroft spoke again.

 

“John I assume that you have met my younger brother, Sherlock Holmes, I thank you for bringing him to medical attention in the morning. And Sherlock this is John Watson.”

 

John nodded at Mycroft in response to his thanks.

 

“Nice to meet you.” John smiled, he held out a hand towards the curly haired boy, his heart had calmed down a bit and he was glad that his hand wasn’t shaking. He doesn’t know why he was anxious. Maybe it was the fact that he was without a roommate for two months, or maybe it was because there was something about his new roommate that made John feel like he was afraid to disappoint him. It was a silly thought. Very silly. 

 

“Hmm.” Sherlock nodded. He stared at the outreached hand of the blonde and did not take it. He merely kept his hands in the pocket of his trousers and stared at the hand.

 

This made John feel extremely awkward and realizing the boy wasn’t going to shake his hand, he quickly put it into his trousers and huffed. He looked at Mycroft with wide eyes.

 

Mycroft carried on “From now on and until the end of your years here at St. Bart’s Academy of Sports and Arts, you two will be sharing this very dorm room together. I have explained all the rules and regulations to you Sherlock and I expect you not to break any of them. Also John, I am assigning you to the task of looking after Sherlock as he is new here, and although I have given him a tour and showed him where all his classes are, he will most probably lose his way

 

Sherlock groaned and Mycroft shot a glance at him telling him to shut up

 

“-I expect the both of you to get along. Sherlock’s things will be brought up here shortly and John may I speak to you for a moment outside.”

 

John was silent throughout and with a glance at his new roommate; he followed the head boy out. Sherlock rolled his eyes again and huffed once the door shut. He walked around the room, taking in his surroundings. Only vaguely interested in the conversation that was going on outside. He was impressed by the effort that John had put into cleaning the room as Sherlock noticed the faint stains here and there of food. He walked into his side of the room, glad that he had his own desk and closet as the thought of sharing these things appalled him. He was thankful for the space between his side and the other boy’s side. Although Sherlock had nothing against the boy, he still wanted to distance himself. This does not mean he didn’t want to know what he could about the blonde though, and so he walked to the other side and deducted what he could.

 

“I’m so sorry for the short notice John.” Mycroft said

 

“It’s alright, I just wished I had more time to prepare…” _mentally_ John added in his head.

 

“Yes well, as you can see my brother might be quite the handful. And I appreciate your patience.”

 

John sighed.

 

“Sherlock has been to many schools and has been through a lot. He’s used to being alone and so he puts up walls that no one can penetrate. Please do try not to punch him, although it would be reasonable.”

 

John understood even if just slightly. He understood the trust issues and he understood the walls. He understood the warning of not punching Sherlock but still John felt that he didn’t understand him.

 

“It will take time to warm up to him John, and beneath all that ice is a light. Your patience and understanding will be required. Take care of him. I trust that you will.”

 

John looked at Mycroft in surprise

“How can you be so sure that I will take care of him? I’m not his babysitter. Besides why doesn’t he share a room with you? And where were you this morning? Did you know what happened? Are you going to do something about it?”

 

All the questions he had been meaning to ask just rushed out and although they were harmless, he still felt as if he asked too much.

 

“Thank you once again for saving my brother. The reason, John, that I chose you was because I believe that you were the best choice for Sherlock. You are unlike the other boys from the school, and I know you wouldn’t hurt him where he would hurt the most. He cannot share a room with me as for one, I already have a roommate and two: Sherlock hates me. I was aware of the events that occurred this morning and I dealt with the matters before coming to see Sherlock.”

 

Mycroft said this in such a calm and uncaring manner, as usual.

 

John felt like he had more questions now than he had to start with. Wouldn’t hurt him where he would hurt the most? What does that mean? Does it mean that I wouldn’t punch him where it really really hurt (like it would for every boy) or did it mean something else? Why would Sherlock hate his brother?

 

“I know that you have plenty of questions and they will be answered in time. As for now, things will change incredibly and you must learn to adapt to those changes. And although hard, they will end in reward. I only hope that you will last long enough to see those rewards. I shall be in my office if ever you need me.”

 

With that, Mycroft pivoted on his heel and walked away leaving an utterly baffled John behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that I haven't updated in a while, I've been resting a lot. But here it is!!! I apologize if it is quite short but I hope you guys like it anyway. Thank you for all your comments and for reading this and for everything. You guys make my day. Do continue to read and to comment. I love you guys!


	5. Sorry

Sherlock was frightened. He was and he would never admit it. He was frightened and he was tired. After he finished looking about the room (and looking about John’s stuff), he tried to eavesdrop on the conversation his brother and roommate were having outside the door. After hearing a few exclaims and muffled bits of talk, he lost interest and went to lie on his bed. Sherlock still couldn’t understand dad and Mycroft’s decision to move him schools, sure there were bruises and fights but that’s always happened before. He was so tired of changing places, of changing schools and environment. He hated it. He was afraid of what people might do. In his old school, after time passed, he expected things because they happened repeatedly. But here it was a whole new pattern to learn, whole new bruises and threats and words. He was frightened because although he expected the same, he was afraid of what was coming.

 

“Well that was… odd.” John mumbled as he shut the door, looking very confused.  
Sherlock looked up as he walked in, staring and thinking at the blonde haired. This was another issue. Sherlock couldn’t understand the boy, and Sherlock hated not understanding things. He couldn’t understand why the boy saved him. Sherlock deduced from the medals, certificates and pictures that were plastered about on John’s side, that his roommate was popular and this baffled Sherlock more because why would anyone risk their popularity to save a freak? Wasn’t the blonde worried of losing friends? Of being deemed uncool? Or does he have a hidden motive? Will he deal with Sherlock later on instead? Even if the blonde could stick with him now, he won’t be able to take him for long… he’ll get pissed and leave or hit. Just like everyone always did. Sherlock was frightened but he didn’t show it, his face remained expressionless as he looked at the boy’s face.

John cleared his throat hoping to clear the tension and hoping to get out of Sherlock’s gaze.

“ Why?” Sherlock snapped. Eyes furrowed, and quickly sitting up on the edge of the bed. He looked directly at John’s eyes, searching for answers and truth.

“Why what?” John asked, confused but returning Sherlock’s stare. Looking into his eyes daringly.

“Why did you save me,” Sherlock started. “Why go through all this effort to clean up? Why didn’t you tell Mycroft to change dorms? You saw how I was like so why bother? Why are you doing this? Why didn’t you punch me when you wanted to? WHAT DO YOU WANT?” He rambled and he exclaimed, never looking away from John’s blue eyes.

John’s eyes showed confusion, then worry, then pain and then finally anger. He stared back at the kaleidoscope of blue, green and grey eyes. He swallowed and he clenched his fist, wanting to punch something.

Sherlock noticed the fist clenching and he registered the emotions that flew in John’s eyes, he didn’t understand some of them but he didn’t move. This was the blow he was waiting for. The hit. The punch. The jaw breaking and the blood.

Instead of the blow, John huffed. He unclenched his fists, and tension left his body. He shook his head, and chuckled slightly. Bringing confusion upon Sherlock’s face. “I saved you because it was the right thing to do, I cleaned up because it was a mess and I didn’t want you to clean up after me,” John smiled as his eyes held a cheerful emotion “I couldn’t tell Mycroft to change dorms because one, he wouldn’t and two I didn’t want to. I don’t know what you expect me to do Sherlock, but I’m your roommate and you’ll just have to deal with me for a while just as I have to deal with you.”

Sherlock was so confused. His face had softened and he knew that John spoke truth because he could see it in his eyes. He could see the honesty and the confusion. He knew that when John laughed, it wasn’t at him. It wasn’t because Sherlock lost his cool. Sherlock was even more frightened than before.

John walked away, and looked out the window that overlooked the football field. Sherlock felt a weird feeling of guilt and he did something he would never have thought he would ever do.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock whispered, hoping to god that John would hear because he would never repeat it. “I didn’t mean to rage. It’s just odd, I find it odd all this…” He trailed off, looking at the boy shyly. He felt odd. But the apology fell from his lips easily. He was standing now, just by the bed but stared at the boy’s back.

John, surprised, turned around and smiled. He nodded at Sherlock and suddenly everything was light and cheery as he crossed the room to lie on his bed “Your first day of school tomorrow, what do you have first?” John asked lightly.

Sherlock was once again baffled. But he was grateful for the subject change; he knew that he was forgiven… even just for now. He smiled even just slightly. “Chemistry” he answered, sitting at the edge of the bed as he looked at John.

“oh good. I can take you, I’ve got that too.”

“You don-“

“I don’t mind.” John said with finality. It wasn’t harsh but it was powerful. This shut up Sherlock, he realized it was best not to argue anymore tonight.

He lay back down on his bed and stared at the ceiling with his hands under his chin and his eyes closed as he breathed evenly. Then a thought occurred to him, a question he had been meaning to ask when he first figured out.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” His voice was loud and clear in the silence.

“Excuse me?” John was confused, surprised. Sherlock couldn’t possibly know could he?

“The country your father fought in during the war. Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“How did y-“

Sherlock sighed “Your uniform and books are second hand, meaning that you aren’t from a very rich family. This school is extremely expensive and the rich always buy brand new. That indicates that you’re here on a scholarship then. It’s an academy for sports and arts, no callous on fingers or marks of playing an instrument so then sports. What sport? Football. Your build showed me that. And when you gazed out unto the field as well. You love it but there’s something bothering you, I don’t know what. Anyway, your pictures are of your family and friends. Your family pictures contain only you, your mother and your sister. No father then? Either dead, broken or away. You, your mother and your sister hold signs of only families with a family member in the army would have. And so suggesting with the missing father, it must have been taken when dad was away…the way you hold yourself, and the scholarship and money... Afghanistan or Iraq?”

There was a pause as Sherlock’s ramble ended. He was quite afraid that he had pissed John off again and he was surprised when he heard John clear the silence.

“That… that was brilliant.” John said breathlessly.

“Excuse me?”

“That. Was. Bloody. Brilliant.” John repeated, as he looked in awe at Sherlock.

“That’s not was people usually say.”

“What do they usually say?

“Fuck off.”

Both boys burst out laughing and when their giggles died down, John answered Sherlock’s question.

“Afghanistan.”

“Did I get everything right? I didn’t expect to.”

“How did you know all that with just looking?”

“I observe, John. It’s what I’m good at.” Sherlock huffed.

John was still in awe. Then his voice softened as he said,

“it was my mom who fought in the war. My dad, my dad’s still there but,” John cleared his throat “I do play football and I was invited here by the school after a few of the board members watched one of the football games I played in. I’m not captain though, don’t want to be. But my dad insists on me being captain and comes to every game. He’s very… passionate about it.”

Sherlock noticed the skip of the details about John’s dad and the tone of John’s voice, he understood. He nodded although he knew that John couldn’t see him. He felt guilty again. He felt the sadness that seemed to fill the room now, and it made him feel odd… even sad. He shook his head. What were with all these feelings? These foreign feelings?  
  


There were slight knocks on the door and Sherlock had a feeling what it was. He got up to get the door but John had got there first. In front of their room were bags and luggage of Sherlock’s things. John was about to start hauling the things in when Sherlock walked past him to pick up something amongst the clutter of belongings. Whoever brought them up were gone. John was about to voice out his confusion when he saw that the curly haired boy had grabbed something very interesting. Sherlock walked past the awkwardly standing John by the door and muttered as he walked back inside, a case in one hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so terribly sorry for such a late update! I am so so sorry and it will never happen again. So much things have happened in the past few weeks and it's been so stressful. But here it is. FINALLY. i hope you guys like it (: Don't forget to comment! and do whatever it is you do(: love you all.  
> ***Edit Two: I edited the very last part of this chapter.. if you read this within the three hours of me posting it then please read the last part again, before moving on the next one (:.*


	6. Play

John stood by the door as the black haired boy stood at the opposite side of the room, facing John with the sun shining through the window at his back. John simply stood there, quiet and wondering as the other boy took something out of the bag that he had carried inside.

Sherlock held the violin gently. Relief spread through his fingertips and flowed to the rest of his body once he touched the familiar wood. He loved playing. The melody that the violin produced helped him to think and to calm down. He didn’t care whether or not he played well, so long as he played. Sherlock placed the precious instrument under his chin and placed it’s bow above the strings, poised to play. His body was straight and calm, he closed his eyes and started to play a piece from memory.

John had watched Sherlock change. From the cold, tense and indifferent boy into an open, relaxed and human one. It shocked him to see how different the curly haired became once he started playing. And it shocked him more to hear the melody that flowed from his fingertips. He watched and listened. He watched how sometimes the curly hair would furrow his bow, or sometimes the corner of his mouth would twitch, or how sometimes his face would have no lines of worry or distress. He listened as the melody started out slowly, and then how it quickened in the middle and slowed in the end. He listened as he felt the stinging in his eyes for the melody was sad and anguished. And he realized that the piece was of anguish and sorry and despair. And he realized that it was him and how he felt.

Sherlock was unaware of the emotions that his melody had brought upon John, for he was more focused on remembering the notes. He was playing for John. He did not know why at first but he had this impulse, this need to do so. He realizes now that he is playing for John because he is sad and Sherlock is sorry for prying too much. And also because Sherlock needed to think of solutions to the problems that had floated around his mind for the past few hours. He played because he needed to think, just as he played as an apology to John. He did not know whether or not John liked it but at the moment he did not worry.

John was holding back. He did not want to fall apart in front of his roommate on their first day of sharing the room together. Not only that, John did not cry. John does not cry. Crying was something John had not done for the longest time and if he did, he would not share it with anyone. John was the happiest guy in school after all. He was known for the goofy smile and the kindness and the cheerfulness and all things happy. But now as he listens to the agony that Sherlock played, he felt like he was going to just start breaking right there. He wanted it to stop and yet he did not want to.

Sherlock heard the gulp, the slamming of the door and then the hurried footsteps. 

He opened his eyes in surprise, knowing that john left the room in haste but not knowing why. Perhaps he didn’t like the sound or perhaps he had gotten bored. Sherlock didn’t know. But he was glad that John had left right at that moment. Because at that moment when Sherlock had ended the melody and opened his eyes, his throat was thick and his eyes were blurry. And when he opened his eyes a tear rolled down his cheek and he did not wipe it away. Then another one fell and another, then finally after the fifth tear rolled down, Sherlock held his breath as he would during times like these. He held his breath and blinked his eyes and huffed out. He forced himself to stop crying but he needed something. He needed something that kept him hanging on for so long. He looked for a blade.

John had ran out as quickly as he could because the tears started falling. Even though he knew that most of the students were out because it was a Sunday, he walked hastily through the back way to his favorite spot. While holding back the tears and smiling just in case he passed by anyone. His favorite spot was in very hidden space in the library. It was a hidden space because no one knew it was there but John, not even the teachers. So he walked briskly down the pathway that led to the back of the library building and looked around for any sign of anyone. There was a back door that led into the stock room of the library, and John had found the key sometime ago. He leaves the key under a stone, under a bush that grew at the left side of the back door. He took it out and shoved it quickly but quietly into the keyhole and turned. Inside the stock room were dozens of broken and unwanted books, dusty and moldy but to the right, hidden by a pile of atlases was a trap door. John knew where to go and moved swiftly about until he smelt the familiar smell of musty books that smelled like home.

Sherlock had found what he was looking for. He dragged his entire luggage into the room quickly and noisily. He placed them in the center of the room and rummaged them for that one pocket that contained what he really needed at the moment. He was making a mess of his things, and the room but he didn’t care. He couldn’t breathe and he needed something. He finally found them. And his eyes widened with relief and need and pain. He rushed into the bathroom, locked the door and sank to the floor against the cold tile floor. He breathed. He pulled up the sleeves of his uniform, and steadily watched his fingers press the cold sharp metal across his skin-repeatedly. He gritted his teeth as the tears fell from his eyes. He gritted his teeth as he drew new lines over new ones and he gritted his teeth to stop from making noise. He drew and drew until his forearms were coated in scarlet ink and his throat hurt and his tears had dried. 

Instead of feeling happy as he usually did when he came to that spot, he felt utterly miserable. The space was tiny, lit up by a warm modern lamp that gave the room a yellow glow. Everywhere there were piles of books and writings and anthologies. It was like the stock room above, except it was not. It was john’s private place. He came here hoping that it would cheer him up, like it always did. But today, today John put his arms on top a pile and put his head among his arms and he wept. He wept loudly because no one could hear him. He wept loudly because he needed to get it out. He wept loudly because he heard that melody in his head again. He wept until he could not breathe anymore and his teeth were shaking and his eyes had swell and his jersey was drenched with tears and snot.

Both boys cleaned up. Sherlock washed his forearms with warm water, wincing slightly as he did. John wiped his nose unto the sleeve of his jersey. Sherlock wiped off the fallen droplets onto the tiles and washed his face. John turned off the lights in his place, walked out the stock room uncaught and rushed to the nearest washroom to rinse his face. The sun was setting and it was beautiful as both boys looked at the sun through squinted eyes. Sherlock looked through the dormroom window and John looked as he walked by the path to his dormroom after he washed his face.

Both held their emotions in. Both acted like nothing happened. Both pretended everything was okay. Though they did feel better, both knew it was temporary. Both knew that their faces betrayed them as puffy eyes, red noses and strained smiles showed everyone that they were not okay. So instead of going back to the dormroom, John found himself by quad or gardens of one of the buildings where no one was around. He sat on one of the benches and just watched the sky change from light to dark. Sherlock found himself just lying on his bed as he watched the ceiling change colors as the sun set.

Both ignored the dinner bell that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyy! I love all your comments and I'm kind of proud of this chapter. It's sad but guys it's going to get better. I hope this isn't going to slow for anyone!! It is just the first day, OMG 6 chapters in just the first day, AHAHAH things are going as I planned though to be honest, so I'm really sorry if it's quite long and boring. But here's another chapter!!! I'm excited for the next one and the one after that((: I hope you guys are too!! Oh well it's 2am now, time for bed. I love you guys!! thank you so much <3 keep commenting and doing what ya do (:


	7. Second Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is really full of twists and turns and surprises.

“Sherlock wake up!” John hissed. John had just woken up and they were both running late. Sherlock merely groaned and turned on his side, not waking up at all.

“Sherlock!” John said exasperatedly. He grabbed one of the balled up socks near him and threw it at the boy’s sleeping head. This woke up Sherlock immediately, he sat up in alert and had an angry expression on his face.

“What was that for?!” He exclaimed, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He was so tired.

“We’re running late! It’s your first day of classes!” John shouted as he moved about in the room. Grabbing his tie, fixing his schoolbag, combing his hair…

Sherlock relaxed, as he had thought that he was being attacked. It wouldn’t be the first time, but he at least needed to defend himself. He was ready to hit someone, but realizing it was just John… he knew that John wouldn’t hurt him like that. “What happened last night?” He asked in a tired voice.

John paused, and the expression of shock lasted only for a moment, then he realized what Sherlock was talking about. “I’ll tell you later. Come on!” He put on his school jersey and then groaned as he had forgotten to put on his tie.

Sherlock really wanted to know. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at John with glaring eyes. It required so much energy, and because he hardly had enough sleep, his glaring gaze and crossed arms didn’t really look so menacing as Sherlock wanted it to. Still though, he tried.

Noticing that Sherlock wasn’t moving, he looked at the boy still in his pajamas. John rolled his eyes at him. “You look like a five year old just saying.”

Sherlock didn’t reply, still glaring, waiting.

“What?” John stopped what he was doing and raised his eyebrow. They were really, really running late.

Sherlock softened. He felt silly but he needed to ask. “Why did you rush out yesterday? Was the violin playing bothering you?” He shouldn’t care but he did.

John chuckled. Suddenly realizing what this was about. “It was beautiful Sherlock, it just pulled some strings, that’s all.”

Sherlock was shocked at this, feeling even more stupid. He said nothing because he knew that that was all he was going to get. So he nodded, got up and went to get ready.

 

“The chemical equation for hydrochloric acid is…”

 _BORING._ Sherlock screamed in his head. He already knew all this. He rolled his eyes and ignored the professor’s lecture. He glanced at John, who had his head down as he took notes in intense concentration. He would glance up sometimes at the teacher and then bow his head again to take more notes. Sherlock wondered how it must be like, having to actually take notes to remember important things. More importantly, as he looked about in the room-seeing people flirting, whispering, texting and sleeping- he wondered in horror how boring it must be like in their funny little heads. Even the professor seemed brainless to him, he couldn’t stand any of them really except for one person…

“Mr. Holmes?” a voice broke him out of his reverie and his head snapped up at the professor as students around him stared at him. They were always staring. When he first walked in, they were staring. When John introduced him to the teacher, they were staring. When he chose a seat that was the only available one, they stared. There was just really curiosity in their eyes, not the hatred he had grown accustomed to. So he didn’t mind them as much.

“Yes?”

“Please answer my question,” the professor taunted. He knew he had caught the boy. He would be embarrassed and be told off. The professor needed to show that Sherlock wasn’t being played favorites on just because he was new. He didn’t expect an answer of any kind.

What was the question? Sherlock focused. Searched the bored, the textbook in the teacher’s hands, then with just his pupils, he searched his classmates notes. There weren’t many who had taken notes, and to be quite honest his heart was beating slightly faster than necessary.

Then he caught a small movement, and he fought a smile as he saw the notepad that was hanging by the edge of John’s desk, clearly showing him the answer. He was both glad and frustrated with the help, being who he was of course… but at the moment he was quite grateful to not be up staged by a dumb professor who was cheating on his wife with one- no most of the female teachers.

“Calcium,” he answered. Smiling a smile that he intended to annoy the teacher.

All that quick calculation merely took five seconds. And he noticed the teacher frown and grimace. Disappointed that Sherlock knew the answer.

“W-ell.. yes. Very well done Mr. Holmes.” The teacher stammered, he turned red as he felt embarrassed. The teacher went on teaching and Sherlock tuned out again and stared at the boy who sat two rows ahead of him on his right. He was back to taking notes, his head bowed down and his hand writing furiously on his notepad.

_BRIINNNNGGG_

_OH THANK GOD._ Chairs scraped against the wooden floor and students rushed to stand and get out. As he was about to stand up and leave the teacher cleared his throat.

“Mr. Holmes may I see you for a moment?”

 _No?_ Sherlock was tempted to answer. Oh so tempted. But he had no energy to make a fuss and so he nodded and waited for the room to clear out. Sherlock glanced at John who was looking at him, an expression of worry and amusement clear on his face. Sherlock struggled to keep from smiling but he nodded at John. Indicating that he should go, but John just stood there not moving.

“John you may leave.” The teacher said nicely. Ohhh first name basis ae? Sherlock raised an eyebrow. It was clear that John was a favorite student.

John hesitated and he looked at Sherlock, a question in his eyes.

_You gonna be alright? Is it alright if I go?_

Sherlock merely nodded. Awed at the quick and nonverbal communication that just passed. More questions played in his mind. Why does John care? Of course he could leave? It’s just a teacher, he isn’t going to kill me? Sherlock couldn’t understand. But there was softness in his eyes when he indicated to John for the second time that he should go. Getting the message, he flashed a quick smile at his teacher (who smiled back) and walked out slowly.

Their chemistry teacher closed the door behind John and then walked back to sit at the edge of his desk, simply staring at Sherlock.

Sherlock sighed. As loudly and as obviously as he could.

“You were distracted in class today Mr. Holmes,” the teacher said.

“So were the rest of the class,” Sherlock said in a bored tone. He really didn’t know what the deal was with this teacher.

“Fair enough. But we’ll put that behind us. Welcome to St. Bart’s!” His teacher exclaimed the greeting, opening his arms wide in symbol of the word ‘welcome’

“uhm okay.. thanks.” Sherlock said confused, quite afraid now to be honest. His teacher’s expression had quickly changed from angry to welcoming- well kind of, it was more scary really.

“But I see you not paying attention in my class again and there will be a punishment alright?” Sherlock raised his eyebrows at this. His mind reeling. The teacher had mischievous expression, and it sent a shiver up Sherlock’s spine. He realized that his earlier deduction was slightly wrong.

He just nodded, hiding any emotion. And the teacher let him go with a wave of his hand.

Sherlock wanted to run far far away but he would rather skin himself than show that he was afraid. So he walked calmly, hands in pockets with his bag slung over his shoulder.

“First day of class, first class of the day and you get called up.” John chuckled, leaning against the wall beside the door to the classroom.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and shrugged. He had a vague idea on what kind of teacher their chemistry teacher was, and it disgusted him. But he didn’t show the concern to John. “Why are you still here? You could have gone ahead,” seeming to forget the teacher for a moment, he asked John.

“I know. I didn’t want to leave you.” John shrugged and smiled. He turned and walked, as Sherlock followed. John was shorter than Sherlock, actually, John was shorter than a lot of people. Although small, John was tougher than anyone gave him credit for. Sherlock saw than in the way he held himself, and perhaps as he watched the blonde lead the way, he felt a genuine and rare respect for his dorm mate.

“It’s free period again. I have to go to football training though, so I’ll just meet you at the dorm during break before the third period starts? Or you could come if you want.” John continued walking, slowly though so they wouldn’t pass their dorm nor the field, giving Sherlock time to think.

Sherlock was surprised. Mind you, Sherlock was hardly surprised. Especially by ordinary people who seem to surround him wherever he went. But John wasn’t ordinary, Sherlock did not know why but he knew that there was just something about John. Something about John that drew Sherlock to him, something about John that made Sherlock feel… Sherlock pushed the thought out of his mind, frightened.

“I’ll just wait at the dorm.” He mumbled.

“Alright,” John said cheerily. “You know your way?” he asked. He knew the answer of course but he wanted to ask just in case.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him and shook his head as he walked towards the direction of their room. John watched him walk away, a thought suddenly crossed his mind and he shook it out quickly. Then he walked quickly towards his beloved football field.

 _Shut up. Bored. No. No. No. Just shut up! BORED. BORED. BORED._ Sherlock banged his fist against the wall and stomped around their room in circles. His mind wouldn’t shut up and for the first time, he didn’t want his brain to be functioning at the moment. It made him aware of questions and problems and issues he didn’t have solutions or answers to. It made him remember certain things, and he needed distractions.

Sherlock was tempted to take the blade from under the pillow again but he went into his closet instead. He took out a few flasks that contained liquids of various colors. He set them on his empty desk and decided to try and work on some of his current experiments, to hopefully keep his mind from going into the directions he was trying to avoid.

“Oi Watson!” John grinned as he jogged over to Greg in his football uniform. Greg was captain of the team and John was sort of his right man. He relied on John, and it wasn’t a surprise. A lot of people relied on John for a lot of reasons.

The captain gave John a bro hug and knocked the helmet John had put on lightly. The two boys laughed, clearly good friends. “We’ll wait for a few more before we start yeah?” Greg said hopefully.

“If there is actually more” John rolled his eyes. Their team was hopeless if not for him, Greg and a few others who tried to try. He saw a few people at the edge of the field, just head butting each other or just boasting about some nonsense story about their hot girlfriends.

He bathed in the sun. It was only 10:00am and the sun was beautiful and felt good. He breathed the air, smelling the grass and just absorbed the feeling of being on the field. Then, much to John’s annoyance, several thumping on grass and loud voices of an incoming group interrupted his little moment of happiness.

John glared, through the spaces of his helmet, towards the oncoming group. He knew the voice the moment he heard it. Anderson and him were never really friends but they didn’t really argue either, but John was pissed at the moment. John respected Anderson for trying to half-try to play, but his attitude made John want to punch his face repeatedly. Then after what Anderson had done to his new roommate, John found that he was clenching and unclenching his fists. He did this to calm himself down. He wasn’t usually so riled up about this. It pissed him off. It pissed him off that someone had beaten up his roommate of barely a day… John found this thought unnerving.

Sherlock was cold and just inhuman. He was rude and extremely ungrateful. But John was draw to him, like a moth to a flame. He knew that Sherlock being inhuman wasn’t true either… he saw the emotion that seeped through Sherlock’s features as he played the violin. And he had a feeling, John had a feeling that Sherlock was playing for him, to cheer him up. Although it did rather the opposite, John was grateful for the effort. There was something special. Not bad special, good special about Sherlock. John was extremely in awe with Sherlock’s skills of deduction. But not just that, there was something else as well…  
He didn’t know. But he felt a sense of protectiveness towards him.

The group of boy stopped when they saw John. Their faces all sneering and their noses turned up. For a moment John remembered what happened the day before.

_“Freak. Fight back” John heard a series of thuds and groans and moans. There was clanging and he knew there was something wrong. He turned the corner to find Anderson and the rest of his monkey crew beating up a tall boy with black curly hair. He was on the floor now, and they kicked his abdomen._

_“Oi!” John didn’t stop to think, and he rushed towards the horrifying scene. He pushed Anderson towards the wall, causing the rest of the goons to stop and stare at John. Anderson was clearly unhurt, John just pushed him to get him to stop, but Anderson was offended. No one stood up to him. No one. He always knew there was something he hated about John, but he didn’t do anything because he knew that Greg and him were close mates. He didn’t want to get unto Greg’s bad side._

_John stared at him. Shoulders back and standing straight, he looked him right in the eye._

_“Fuck off.”_

_Anderson was going to reply. But thought better and gave John a this-isn’t-bloody-over-stare. And walked off, his goons followed him of course. They were confused because they knew Anderson never backed down, but Anderson said,_

_“I’m not gonna fight a little boy the size of a 5 year old.” He smirked as he walked away and his monkeys laughed at the comment. Glancing back at John as they walked away taunting and teasing, obviously pleased at their leader’s come back._

_John was gonna go for it. He wanted to punch Anderson for his smart little comment. He knew better of course, but he wanted to, he so badly wanted to. He knew it would have started a big brawl, he knew it would get nowhere but he was fuming. His blood was boiling. His eyes seemed clouded by rage. And it took him a groan from the beaten boy on the floor to get him focused. He quickly bent over to check the boy, bleeding and bruised. He shook his head, and half dragged the boy with all his strength to the nurse’s office after checking that the curly haired didn’t break anything._

Neither said anything. They just looked at each other up and down, until Anderson’s expression broke into a smile.

“Hey John, how’d a five year old get in here?” The group shook with laughter at the apparently funny joke.

John clenched his fists again and shook his head. He smiled a sympathetic smile and walked away. This left Anderson and his goons confused.

“I hear no denial? It’s true then?” Anderson snickered, taunting, pushing.

John wanted so badly to say something, to hit something. But he didn’t, he couldn’t. So he continued walking away towards Greg, who squinted his eyes to the group that John had turned his back to. Then he met John’s eyes and Greg’s jaw tightened.

“You can punch someone you know, it’s normal. Especially since it’s Anderson. I would.” Greg murmured to John. They both had just finished discussing the strategy of their next game, and the training routine that they would be doing today.

John chuckled. “I know. But he isn’t worth it, wouldn’t want to ruin anything.”

Greg heard the tightness in John’s voice. And he knew that John was trying. He always admired John for that. For his patience and his virtues and his kindness. John was always the better man, always. He was a better man than Greg himself, and Greg was proud to be his friend and teammate. He seemed to be the only sensible person around their team, and it was really just John who kept their team together. Being his friend of course, he was extremely peeved off at the members of his team. John had told him about it, and it surprised Greg that John had the willpower to not throw a punch, because he knew he would have.

Greg had an idea, being captain has perks. John helped him explain the strategy and game plan to the rest of the members.

“Okay, today’s training, for warm up- I want 6 laps light jog around the field and then suicides. Then 10 sprints across the quarter. Alright?” Greg instructed. He sent the rest (excluding John) off except for Anderson and his group of friends. “You guys do 150 pushups, 9 laps around the field and 20 sprints. Then 90 situps.”

“But-“ Anderson started. John looked at Greg with big eyes, then smiled.

Greg stared at them coldly “I said 150 pushups-“

“Yeah we get it.” Anderson gritted his teeth and threw a hateful look at John, before beckoning his monkeys to follow him towards the end of the field to start their assigned routine.

When they were far enough, the two boys burst into laughter.

“Thanks Greg. Shit, his face was hilarious! Did you see that?” John said in between laughs

“They deserve it-bloody hell I should have gotten that on tape.” Greg laughed as silently as he could, wiping a tear and clenching his stomach.

When the laughter subsided a little, they both started the jog.

Sherlock had seen the laughter that John and another had burst into from the dorm window that overlooked the field. The figures were tiny, but Sherlock knew it was John. He caught himself smiling as he saw John’s face look so happy. It was odd. Why was he smiling? Why did it matter if John was happy? Sherlock’s face fell, his brain filled with endless questions. He couldn’t focus properly. All he knew was that he was happy to see John laugh. It warmed him. His insides and outsides felt warm, and it wasn’t just the sun. He had seen the smile and light bounce in John’s step as he run. Something swarmed in his insides. He liked John smiling. Frustrated, he decided to leave the room and experiments that he had been working on for an hour straight. He had taken off his jersey, exposing the still red lines that occupied his wrists and forearms. He was glad no one was around. He was getting extremely uncomfortable in the heat; he didn’t want his sweat accidentally falling into one of the liquids of his experiments of course. It was summer for god’s sake. He didn’t have a choice though, the jersey was the only way to really hide the scars.

He grabbed his jersey now, sighing. He put it on, ensuring the sleeves covered everything. He walked out, he still had time before the bell rang, signaling the morning break. He just needed a little bit of air. He closed the dorm room behind him and just walked aimlessly. After some time, he found himself standing on one of the benches that overlooked the field. He didn’t know what his subconscious mind could possibly contain to lead him here. The field was empty now, signaling the close end of their break time. He knew that John expected him to be at their dorm, normally he wouldn’t care but Sherlock wanted to. He felt that he need to. He felt that if he didn’t then he would upset or disappoint John, and he didn’t want that. And he had no idea why. Nonetheless, he turned back up he came and walked towards their dorm. He wasn’t really looking where he was going and he bumped into someone. He was going to comment on their incompetence despite knowing that it would half his fault too, but when he looked to see who it was, his words somehow got stuck in his throat.

The figure was hard, and it looked down on him with a hatred glare. Only slightly taller than Sherlock., dressed in a suit and with a posture that screamed power and authority. He was surrounded by three more men, all wearing a suit, sunglasses and an earpiece on their right ear. The face had twisted into one of disgust. Sherlock looked up and swallowed, clearly frightened. Only one person can really frighten him like this, as the person had done so for the entire of his life.

The man had similar features to Sherlock. Their minds almost alike, the same blood running through their veins and their hair both curly and dark. Sherlock was looking up at his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay we're getting there guys, don't give up on me. The chapters I've been waiting to write (and hopefully you've been waiting to read) will come soon!! I think this is a pretty long chapter, probably not… Idon'tknow. How do you like it? I liked it. I really really really hope and pray that this story isn't boring any of you, I promised that it will get better… for me it will and I hope that it will for you guys too. Thanks for waiting <3 I love you guysss, kudos and comments always appreciated. 
> 
> (p.s. pardon me for any mistakes in grammar, vocab, facts etc)


	8. Why?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N- dark dark dark

“Father?” Sherlock’s voice seemed to have gotten smaller. The emotionless façade had disappeared and in his eyes and in his posture, fear was there.

 

“Watch where you’re going you blubbering idiot!” His father snapped, cold and deep. His voice filled with power. Sherlock feels like he’s staring right at the devil, perhaps he is.

 

“I-I’m sorry, Father.” Sherlock stammered, and he winced as his father’s face distorted into an awful expression.

 

“Where’s your brilliant brother Sherlock?” The man shouted. Sherlock winced again, unable to reply quickly enough.

 

“Stop being stupi-“

 

“Father.” Mr. Holmes’ insult was cut off by Mycroft’s steady and calm voice. A smile was plastered on his face, posture straight and with he walked with grace. Mycroft practically glowed of perfection. Sherlock hated that, and he looked down on the floor as his older brother approached him and their dad.

 

“Ahh there you are Mycroft.” His father’s tone had become gentler, more warming. The man had held out his hands and rested them upon Mycroft’s arms. This action is considered a hug in the among the men of the Holmes’ family. This action was a symbol of acceptance and of respect and admiration. Sherlock, never in his 17 years of life, did he once remember receiving this gesture from his father. Sherlock knew and understood why of course.

 

“What brings you here father?” Mycroft’s tone had a light bounce it. Of course he was glad that daddy dearest was here. It boosts up his self esteem doesn’t it? Sherlock hated them both.

 

“Well, I want to congratulate you on receiving the top awards for your sciences and mathematics. Also to commend you for reaching the top 3 nominations for Student Board President, I had no doubts of course. At least someone’s being useful and worthy to be called my son.” Mr. Holmes sneered the last statement in the direction of Sherlock, who continued to look at the floor.

 

Sherlock was holding it in. He was going to burst but he had to stay.

 

“Thank you father. I’m glad that you’re pleased.”

 

“Oh I am very Mycroft, I also want to thank you for arranging your brainless brother’s educational and living facilities. I hope it wasn’t troublesome Mycroft, always can count on you to do what is expected of you.”

 

His father’s tone had a mix of warm and cool. Warmth to Mycroft and ice to Sherlock.

 

“To be perfectly honest, I don’t see the point of Sherlock attending school. Of course his mother had insisted. But to me, he is utterly useless and idiotic. How many schools has it been now? 5? 10? I’ve lost count. And all top schools too. How he can’t make it through his educational years in one school with his brain baffles me. He is a failure in my eyes, and he always will be until he proves himself worthy. I can hardly call you my son.”

 

Sherlock felt like he was going to throw up, and he swallowed hard. His eyes were stinging and he blinked the tears away before they fall freely. His fists were clenched and he was breathing hard. He felt the heated gaze from his father, but he didn’t look up.

 

Mycroft had stayed silent. He saw Sherlock at the corner of his eye for a moment, and it stung him in the chest. Even with that, Mycroft remained silent and continued to watch as their father tormented his younger brother. Looking at Sherlock, it seemed like he was a little boy again. Only back then, Mycroft had done something about it.

 

Mr. Holmes dropped his head in level with Sherlock’s head and said in a threatening voice, “don’t you dare mess this up Sherlock. If something goes wrong, I will disown you. I will disown you and trust me on that, you worthless kid. You better prove something here, or you’ll never get to use your brain again… if you had one. Understand me?”

 

Sherlock nodded once and stood still as he heard the footsteps of his father, and his three bodyguards fade away. Then followed by a squealing of car tires. Sherlock didn’t relax though, he was still tense and he was hurt. He was shaken. Sherlock stood there, clenched fists at his side, back stiff and head bowed down. Only vaguely aware that Mycroft was still there, waiting for Sherlock to speak.

 

“Sher-“ Mycroft started.

 

Sherlock pivoted on his heel, midway through Mycroft’s word and walked on the path that led to his dorm room. He didn’t look back nor did he look up, he walked slowly. Then he heard the bell, hoping that John was still in the changing rooms, he quickened his pace.

 

Once he reached their dorm room, Sherlock rushed inside. Relief swept over him as he noticed the lack of John in the room, knowing he had little time, he rushed for the blade under his pillow and practically ran to the shared bathroom in their dorm. There, he sat against the wall, breathing heavily while clutching the cold metal in his palm.

 

John decided to take a quick shower after training. They had a pretty good trial run and he was fairly confident about the upcoming game. He stepped out of the shower, got dressed and headed back for his dorm. He knew that Sherlock would be waiting for him to return so they can grab a snack and get to their third period class, which was Literature for John. Someone stopped him though as he stepped out of the shower rooms, dressed into his uniform again. A dark blue jersey on top a sky-blue polo with a matching tie. He had black trousers, black socks and black leather shoes. He hadn’t bothered with combing his hair, and so it was messy and it stuck out at places.

 

“John!”

 

The blonde turned around to see who it was, finding that it was Greg. The team captain did a slight jog to get to where John was standing.

 

“Come hang out with the guys at my dorm. We’ll go straight to Literature afterwards.”

 

“Nah, I’ll pass today, gotta head back.” John hadn’t even thought of it, not really. He knew that Sherlock was back at their dorm waiting for him since the bell had already gone.

 

“Alright, just pass by though, you gotta say hi to the guys at least” Greg urged.

 

John thought about it, surely it’ll just take 10 minutes, he nodded “Alright, just for a bit.”

 

Greg beamed, “come on then.”

 

Sherlock was _bleeding._ He outdid himself this time. He couldn’t remember the last time he had done so much. He didn’t stop at his forearms, he found that there wasn’t enough room. So he had lifted up his shirt and cut there. He drew scarlet lines across his sides, his stomach… anywhere he could possible reach.

 

It felt so good. Although of course the physical pain wasn’t as horrible as the emotional pain he felt, it sort of lessened the pain inside. The words his father said a few minutes ago was loud and vivid in his mind, and they rang in his ears again and again. Each time, they would cut a new line across his skin. Then soon, all the other words and memories came in. He usually held them back. He always tried to hold back the most painful ones but this time they were too powerful and he was exhausted. He had been crying and his lip was bleeding from the multiple times he bit on it to keep himself from screaming.

 

His head was throbbing, he was crying and gasping. He couldn’t breathe. His had this vibration going on in his mouth from the large amount of crying he had done. His upper body was exposed, he had taken out his uniform so he could get more room to cut. He was only wearing his black trousers, socks and shoes. His blood had made quite a mess on the tiles and droplets and streaks of his blood were on his torso and arms. He had just kept going and going. He asked questions that made him hate himself even more, he felt pathetic and weak and vulnerable, but that just pushed even further down. Finally, he was tired. Finally, he stopped and he felt his eyes drooping.

 

The last thought on his mind before darkness surrounded him was “Why don’t I end this and just die?”

“Alright then, see you tomorrow at practice!” Greg called out as John waved back before walking out the door.

 

John, upon closing the door quickly, practically ran the path to their dorm. He had stayed longer than he had intended, catching up will some old pals and making new ones. He didn’t mean to, but the time had slipped his mind. Only when one of the guys asked what time third period started, then did John remember that someone was waiting for him at the dorm. He hoped that Sherlock had eaten at least, and was just waiting for him to bring him to his next class. He cursed himself for being so inconsiderate. He felt awfully guilty, even though he knew thatcto someone else it wouldn’t be big deal. It was to him.

 

He reached their dorm room, sighed and opened it.

 

“I’m sorry I took so long, I lost track of time. I hope you were able to get some food alright.” John said as he closed the door and set his bag down by his side of the room.

 

He was surprised to hear no reply; it was awfully quiet. And when he looked up, he found that Sherlock wasn’t there. John sighed; perhaps he had already gone without John. He looked for the curly haired though, not knowing exactly why, seeing that Sherlock leaving would be the most likely possibility. But he had this strange feeling that he should look about in the room. So he checked under the bed, in both their closest, and seeing that the bathroom door was slight ajar, he opened that one slowly after he had knocked and there was no answer-he didn’t want seeing anything _private._

 

“Sherlo-“

 

John couldn’t breathe. John couldn’t think. John felt like he was hallucinating and he wished he was, but there was a sickening feeling it was real. There was blood everywhere, on the tiles and on the curly hair’s body. John’s mouth was open, his eyes raked the scars and fresh cuts on the boy’s forearms and stomach, hip and chest. John sank to his knees, it wasn’t because of the blood. He was sad, he was angry and he was scared. Scared for Sherlock and what he had been through that he would go the extreme and harm himself. Sad because he didn’t know, sad because he didn’t think it was fair and sad because it wasn’t right. Angry at himself and to anyone that had pushed the dark haired boy to hurt himself. He asked himself if he could have done anything, asked himself if he could have stopped it if only he had arrived earlier. He shook his head, hands pressed against his eyes, tears leaking out.

 

Then, he looked up, and watched for the rise and fall of his chest, feeling the relief that the boy wasn’t dead. He moved slowly towards him, crawling, ignoring the blood that started to stain his jersey. He touched Sherlock’s arm lightly and the boy’s eyes fluttered open.

 

“NO PLEASE, I’M SORRY!” Sherlock exclaimed, jolting awake. He looked around, eyes wild, eyes frightened. His hands were raised to protect him from something. He was shaking, and his eyes were sore. His face wet. He couldn’t quite remember where he was or what had happened. He looked at the scarred and bleeding arms that were raised, and then looked at his bleeding body. He then remembered.

 

“Sherlock, it’s alright- hey it’s just me.” There was a voice, a warm and gentle voice that shouldn’t be here. Sherlock looked at the source, eyes widened in horror as he realized who it was.

 

“Get out…” His voice was weak and hoarse. In all honesty, he didn’t want John to leave but he didn’t want John to see him like this, weak and vulnerable.

_Was he mad? Disappointed? Frightened? Annoyed?_

 

He saw the blonde shake his head slightly as if he had heard the questions in Sherlock’s head, liquid streaming from his eyes and his face was distorted as if he was in pain.

_Was he crying too? Why? Just go. John just go._

He ought to voice this but John crawled closer, and much to Sherlock’s surprise, he lifted the curly haired’s head and rested it on John’s chest as he leaned against the bloody tile wall. Then he wrapped his arms around him.

 

Sherlock, alarmed from the human touch, struggled against John. But John held him tightly, in a non-painful way. Sherlock was too weak, too tired to fight some more and besides, he knew that he couldn’t win against John.

_What the hell is he doing?_

 

Instead of asking this, Sherlock asked something else.

 

“Why, John?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find this sad and sweet at the same time. And i know that the reactions of the boys' are out of character but I will hopefully explain it in the next chapter. I hope you guys liked it though, and it is pretty dark but I hope it's good. Do you guys like how the story is going? Because I can make changes if needed. I love you all and your kudos' and comments. keep them coming? (: Can i make any improvements on this? Is it too much? too fast paced? I really value your thoughts and opinions guys (: Thanks! <3


	9. Silence

John couldn’t answer, John couldn't breath, all John could do was hold Sherlock and cry. After the curly haired boy had stopped fighting against him, he was limp and his breath was jagged. John had his arms around the boy’s waist under his arms to support him, to try and keep him up. The boy wasn’t heavy, in fact, the bot was far too light than any boy of his age should be. John could feel the bones of his ribs and elbows. This seemed to pain him even more.

 

Both boys were crying. Questions swarming in their head but neither voiced it. The bell for third period rang and neither moved. They stayed like that for a while until suddenly John burst.

 

“I’m so sorry Sherlock, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…” John whispered. His voice hoarse and his eyes were streaming with tears. He whispered this over and over and over. He felt so tortured and helpless. He didn’t know what could have caused Sherlock to be like this but he knew that he could have stopped this particular accident.

 

Sherlock was surprised, naturally. Why was John apologizing? He had done nothing wrong of course. Sherlock’s head ached from the memories and the visions, the voices and the words. He wanted to crack his skull open to be honest, and he would have done so if John wasn’t holding him. However, this sudden outburst of apologies from John distracted him for a moment. He couldn’t possibly think of a reason for John to be apologizing to Sherlock. In fact, shouldn’t Sherlock be the one apologizing?

 

“What for?” Voice tired and sullen and gloomy, a whisper.

 

“I didn’t know.. I could have stopped it- I should have been here…” John was muttering reasons, some making sense, some not. But he kept talking and crying.

 

Sherlock listened to all of these. He could feel the vibration of John’s body against him. He noticed the hunched and weak figure and yet the tight non-painful hold on him. Finally in the midst of John’s hushed reasoning, something in Sherlock’s brain clicked, he realized and he had enough.

 

“John stop! Stop!” He gasped. He was weak, his voice was weak and croaky but he needed to speak.

John fell silent, shaking his head but waiting for Sherlock to continue.

 

“this isn’t your fault. John this isn’t your fault. My dad- My dad, was here.”

 

It was just a whisper but to John it might as well have been a scream. It was a cry of anguish, Sherlock’s voice was tortured and it hurt John. But John understood, he knew. He could hear it in Sherlock’s voice. The fear, torture and sadness, he could hear the anger and the hatred but he could hear desire as well. John only knew it too well.

 

Still John felt that perhaps if he didn’t spend as long as he did at Greg’s dorm, then he could have stopped _this_ from happening.

 

Sherlock felt this. He didn’t know exactly how but the silence and the tension in John’s body seemed to tell Sherlock what he really was thinking.

 

“No, you couldn’t have stopped this. I needed… I needed to.” He said, voice cracking. He was trying to sound reassuring in a way, though that was quite silly. But he needed John to know that it wasn’t his fault.

 

John relaxed. Understanding, but still upset of course. He cried some more and so did Sherlock. They stayed like that until their tears had run dry and their eyes had closed.

 

* * *

 

Sherlock woke to a warm cloth on his forehead. He opened his eyes slowly, they hurt and he knew they were puffy. His head throbbed in pain as the memories of what happened rushed in his head. His eyes were wild and lost for a moment, but as he took the events in, his eyes settled on the pale ceiling. The cloth on his head frightened him for a moment, had John brought him to the school nurse? This was something he could not afford to happen. No one else can know, he had already made the mistake of letting John see his weak state and he regretted this. Although it was nice for someone to be there, he knew that he could not let it go any further. He remembered another memory, a warning given to him constantly by the members of his family:

 

_Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock_

 

Sherlock flinched slightly as memories flashed, but he was relieved when he saw the ceiling. The ceiling had a pattern of their dorm room. And he felt his sheets, and smelled the air and he knew he was in his dorm. He knew where he was, and he knew that John had probably moved him to the bed. He looked at himself, his arms were bandaged, stained red with the blood that still oozed out of his wounds. There was a bandage around his abdomen as well, also stained red. He was topless, he found that he was in his underwear and new socks. Had John undressed him? He didn’t shudder at the thought like he usually would, instead he found this interesting and _comforting._ Although the thought of human touch not bothering him, unnerved him.

 

It was light, but not too light. Sherlock knew that this type of light were only present during sunset and sunrise. Judging by yesterday’s events and the over-slept feeling that was running through his body, he knew that it was the dawn of a new day. He looked over to John’s bed, expecting to find a sleeping figure but instead found an empty unmade bed. Sherlock sat up slowly, more pain rushing everywhere. The cloth fell unto his lap and he rubbed his eyes, wondering where John had gone so early in the morning.

 

John filled the small pail with warm water. His head was throbbing, his eyes were throbbing, everything seemed to be _throbbing._   He looked at the mirror at his puffed eyes and he caught the reflection of the now bloodless tiles. He had cleaned them up yesterday after taking care of Sherlock. They weren’t too hard to remove, lots of cleaning solution that he had borrowed from the dorm keepers and a never-to-be-used-again-toothbrush. John’s breath hitched at the memory of his roommate so bloody and broken. He felt like crying again but he knew that that would be ridiculous. He shook his head, and carried the small pot slowly out into their dorm. He had to keep the cloth on Sherlock’s head warm.

 

John almost dropped the pail he was holding when he looked up and found kaleidoscope eyes staring at him. The owner of those eyes was dressed and silent. He wanted to say something. Both of them wanted to say something but they couldn’t. The room was silent, John standing in his pjs holding a pail of warm water by the bathroom door while Sherlock stood by the front door, dressed fully in uniform, a bag in one hand. 

 

Sherlock’s jaw was clenched, and John gripped the pail tightly. Sherlock’s face was cold, and he knew that. There was no sign of friendliness or warmth. Even though his insides felt different. He wanted to hug John, he wanted to thank him and talk to him. He knew that the pail in his hands were for him, he knew that John was taking care of him, he wanted to thank him so badly. But that wasn’t Sherlock Holmes, he didn’t function that way, so he kept his face expressionless.

 

John felt relief, then surprise, then hurt and then anger. He could practically feel the coldness that radiated from Sherlock. He wanted to voice his relief that Sherlock was awake. He wanted to tell him that everything was going to be alright and that if he was tired then he didn’t have to go to class. He wanted to hug him and tell him that he should rest. He wanted to ask if he could do anything else. But when John saw that Sherlock was dressed and expressionless, no thanks or apology or any kind of emotion, anger flooded through him. And he wanted to curse and to shout.

 

Instead of this though, after a long moment of them staring at each other, leaving words unspoken- John turned and walked slowly but harshly towards the bathroom door to pour the warm water down the sink. He didn’t look back as he heard the dorm room door shut.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okaaaay I'm really sorry about this really super duper short chapter but I'm saving the best for the next one, which is probably gonna be posted tomorrow! yeey! I love writing this.. I'm sorry for taking so long but we've been cleaning and decoration and it's all very exhausting. But woooo I love you guys so much ((: Thank you for all the kudos' and the comments, they literally make my day and they inspire me to write. I'm gonna be posting soon again lovelies, just let me get a little shut eye. You guys are the fabest and the best. continue to do what you do <3


	10. Hush

Sherlock made way to the library, grateful that it was empty-he couldn’t really deal with anyone else at the moment. He sat at the corner after grabbing a random book and pretended to read. The librarian was surprised to have a student come in so early but she didn’t say anything. He tugged on his sleeves that covered his bandaged arms, and her eyes simply swept up him. She just went about the library with her trolley, putting back books where they belong. Sherlock was grateful for her silence.

 

John’s right knuckle was red, sore but not bleeding. He had punched the tile wall after he heard Sherlock walk out the door. He was pissed, and that was understandable. He sighed, washed his knuckles with cold water and went to get dressed. He dressed into his uniform slowly, thinking of the events that had happened. Sadness and anger flooded through him and he wanted to scream. He gritted his teeth instead. He splashed cold water against his face, knowing the puff of his eyes will fade later on, he thought of excuses he could use. He was coming up blank and he hoped to God that no one would notice or ask.

 

Sherlock had Calculus first and he didn’t know if John was in the same class, he half hoped he did. He was frightened of course but there was a pit in his stomach. He wanted to see John, and he wanted to apologize. Perhaps he will when he sees him. Or perhaps he won’t. He sighed and flipped the page of the book he was holding but not reading, why did he have to be like this? Why did it have to be so hard?

 

John decided to skip breakfast; he wanted to avoid as much people as possible. He stayed in his dorm, twiddling around to pass time. He would take out the things in his bag and then put it back and then do it again. He would straighten his tie, even though it wasn’t necessary. He would flip through his books and then just close them in frustration. He was restless. He wanted to go to his secret spot now but with the amount of time he wasted, he didn’t have enough time left. He couldn’t understand the actions of his roommate. He couldn’t accept nor could he ignore it. He decided that when they saw each other again, he would confront him. But he wasn’t ready for that right now, despite being against violence, he felt like he would end up punching Sherlock if he saw him right now.

 

Sherlock returned the book, smiled at the librarian and then made his way to class. His head was in pain and he could still feel the puff of his eyes. He looked down as he walked, thinking. He was always thinking and sometimes he would like his brain to just shut up, but that wasn’t possible. Not with Sherlock’s brain. So he endured the rush of information and thoughts in silence, taking in each of them with interest. Currently, his head was filled with John. John John John. He didn’t know John but he felt oddly close to him Sherlock felt guilty once again for infuriating his roommate. He saw the hurt and anger that replaced the relief and happiness in his eyes when he saw Sherlock. But he couldn’t afford to show any more of vulnerability. No one cares, and he was alone. It was always like that wasn’t it?

 

The day went by without them bumping into each other, which John and Sherlock found extremely odd. They were half grateful but also half yearning to see each other, which they also found odd. There were some classes that they should have had together, but neither seemed to be where the other one was. For example; both boys should have had French in third period together but it seems that Sherlock was busy somewhere else. Also, they both should have had Trigonometry together in fifth, but John had suddenly found a more important meeting to attend. They seemed to be pointedly avoiding each other, or it was just luck.

 

They had no interest in their teachers’ lectures nor did they show that they did. Sherlock was called for his attention several times and John had little moments of embarrassment. All they seemed to just be thinking about was _what happened._ Both boys were frightened, angry and sad. They had varying reasons but both boys couldn’t concentrate on anything else. They tried to avoid other people. John spent his lunch with the rest of the football team but he barely said two words. Sherlock spent his spare time in their dorm, thankful that John was somewhere else but again had hopes that he was in there. The day seemed to have lasted for years and John nearly jumped out of his seat when the final bell rang, he really needed to talk to Sherlock or he would go insane.

 

John made it to the dorm room first (after quickly grabbing a bit of dinner), which he was glad for. He knew that there was a slight possibility of him walking straight out if he found Sherlock there first.  And if that happened then nothing would really be resolved. He set his bag down by his bed after he closed the door quietly, he did a quick check of course of the room to make sure that it was empty. After a sigh of relief that it was, he stripped down to his underwear and sat on his bed cross –legged. He took out his homework and tried to do it, while listening for the inevitable sound of footsteps that he was waiting for.

 

Sherlock knew that John was already in there. He knew because he had paused outside their dorm door and heard the soft sound of the page of something flipping. It was nighttime, the dinner bell had gone already. He was tempted to turn around and walk away but he really needed his bandages to be changed as little spots seeped into his sleeves, and he was tired. Also, he knew that he couldn’t avoid John forever. He was frightened of course, and as his heart beat faster he kept his face as cold as possible. He walked in with a loud exhale and avoided the sight of his roommate.

 

John simply stared at Sherlock’s back as the curly haired set down his bag, pointedly avoiding his gaze. He moved about the room, avoiding, avoiding looking at John’s direction. John simply sat there, book on his lap, pencil between his fingers. He swallowed hard, trying to say something but it seemed that he had lost his voice. Sherlock was restless, fidgeting on his tie as he moved about in the room as if searching for something. Finally, he glanced at John’s direction. John had his head down, but his eyes peeked at Sherlock beneath his lashes. Sherlock wanted to say something, but he also seemed to have lost his voice. He exhaled loudly. He couldn’t take this; he would just deal with the bandages later, he set his jaw and moved to leave the room.

 

As he turned the knob and the door opened, there was a thud and then there was a rough yank on his sleeve. Suddenly the door was closed and he was facing John. He was surprised, eyebrows furrowed and his mouth slight open to protest in pain and annoyance.

 

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?” John exclaimed, he stood merely a few merely from the curly haired.  He hadn’t meant to pull so hard, heck he hadn’t meant to stop him at all. But his body had moved on it’s own.

 

Sherlock kept quiet, his eyebrow was raised, a look of slight confusion spread across his features. He had a feeling that John was going to rant.

 

_Go on_

 

 

“What had I done wrong?  What was I supposed to do?! I did what I thought fit. Simple thanks would have been great. If you didn’t want to talk about it then you didn’t have to! I’m sorry if I did something wrong … But you could at least be a little less cold! I mean you don’t have to be so rude! What’s going on?! All I did was try to he-“

 

“Shut up John!” Sherlock interrupted.

 

John stammered, hurt and anger flashing across his eyes. Before he could say something Sherlock carried on,

 

“you don’t understand alright? You don’t get it! You can stop trying to care anyway!” Sherlock pushed John’s chest as he screamed, causing John to stumble backwards.

 

“Fine!” John exclaimed, voice slightly cracking. Straightening up, he walked to his bed and chucked his homework unto the floor. Then he proceeded to lie on his bed, pulling the covers around him and turning to face his back to Sherlock.

 

Sherlock was dumbfounded. He expected a different reaction from John. He hadn’t meant to push him either, and to scream. He was trying to keep his cool but he burst. He knew though, that in someway he had hurt John even more. Sherlock didn’t say anything, after a moment of staring unto John’s figure, he undressed, washed and replaced the bandages and turned off the lights. He laid in his bed slowly, hand over his forehead, confused and thinking.

 

 _What the hell?_ He thought as he glanced at John’s back across the room.

 

John squeezed his eyes shut as tears seeped through. He wanted to argue some more but he would have started crying in front of Sherlock. It was too familiar, all the shouting and the blood and the anger. Memories flashed in his head and it was painful. It was too painful. He held his breath, willing himself not to cry. He breathed slowly and told himself to take even breaths. After a few minutes, John had fallen asleep.

 

Sherlock had turned to face the wall as well. He hadn’t seen the slight tremble of John’s figure before he fell asleep. All he saw was that John was tense, but now, as the even and calm sound of John’s breathing reached his ears, he knew that he was fast asleep. Sherlock couldn’t sleep. It was one of those nights where his brain was overflowing with too much again, too many questions that needed answers. He breathed a sigh, cursed silently and waited for the sun to rise again.

  
John cried out. And Sherlock thought that John was awake, but then John cried out again. It was a cry of anguish, it was just sounds first and then there were words.

 

“NO STOP! LEAVE HER ALONE!”

 

Sherlock realized that John was having a nightmare. He had a feeling that he was supposed to do something but he wasn’t sure. He had never been in this situation before. So he followed his gut and got up to comfort John. He navigated well in the moon-illuminated room, and he kneeled beside John’s bed slowly. He shook his shoulder lightly

 

“John, John wake up,” he urgently whispered.

 

John was sweating, and he was gasping. Then he whimpered and Sherlock shook him some more.

 

“John! It’s just a nightmare!”

 

John’s eyes fluttered open and he gasped out as his knuckles made contact with something. There was a thud and a light ‘oof’ sound. John, calming down a bit, looked in horror as he saw the figure on the floor. The figure, a shadow on the carpet, writhed in pain. John realized that he just punched his roommate.

 

“ohmygod, Sherlock! I’m sorry. Oh God.” John stumbled and rushed to turn on the lights. He crouched down beside Sherlock to check the damage he made.

 

“ouch..” Sherlock mumbled as John leaned him against the foot of his bed. He rubbed the left corner of his jaw, clenching and unclenching it see if it was dislocated.

 

“Shit. I’m so sorry.” John mumbled again and again. “Shit it’s starting to bruise.”

 

John ran to the bathroom, grabbed their loafer, rinsed it with warm water and then ran back to Sherlock’s side. Sherlock was moaning in pain, and he was slightly dizzy.  John dabbed the loafer onto Sherlock’s bruising jaw lightly.

 

“broken? Shit sorry.” John said

 

Sherlock shook his head and then chuckled, as he replaced John’s hand with his own to press the warm cloth unto his jaw.

 

“What’s funny?” john exclaimed in a hushed whisper. It was surely already late at night or early in the morning.

 

“You sure can punch…” Sherlock muttered

 

John shook his head. “I didn’t mean to Sherlock I’m sorry…What were you doing anyway so close?”

 

“I was trying to wake you up, you were having nightmare.” Sherlock said through gritted teeth. He was in pain, he could feel that stinging that was increasing in the lower left hand corner of his face.

 

“oh.. thanks. I thought…” John muttered, he couldn’t believe that he had punched Sherlock thinking that it was someone else.

 

“You thought what?”

 

John sat cross legged beside the curly haired boy, he looked up at Sherlock in a moment’s hesitation and then looked down at his twiddling thumbs.

 

“I thought you were my dad…”

 

Sherlock waited for him to continue.

 

“Before dad left, he used to hit me and my sister, also my mother,” his breath hitched. And he flinched at the memory. “It’s weird because mum was in the army, you’d think that that wouldn’t happen with her around. But she was helpless when it came to my father. He was always drunk, and he would hit us when he was angry. I slept beside my sister and mother often, and sometimes dad would come home drunk and violent. He would come into the bedroom and just drag one of us out and then start hitting us. I would try to stop him, but I was the youngest and I was small…”  John sighed, remembering.

 

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock muttered, surprised at his outburst of apology.

 

John nodded at him and smiled slightly. “It’s alright, after sometime, mum found the strength to send him away. Why it took her so long, we didn’t know. Maybe it was love. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. However, we were still haunted. Nightmares and memories… I hadn’t had them in a long time until tonight…”

 

“It was the blood wasn’t it?” Sherlock deduced, looking at his bandaged arms. He felt a pang of guilt, “I’m sorry.”

 

John shook his head, “no no no, it wasn’t your fault… but yeah it was the blood. And just everything.”

 

There was silence. But it wasn’t heavy, it was sort of comfortable. Both boys thought of their lives, remembering and shuddering as memories came back to them.

 

“I guess we both don’t get along with our dads.” Sherlock muttered, smiling slightly as he looked at John.

 

John looked up at him in wonder. He wanted to know but he wasn’t pushing Sherlock either. He was there to listen and to care.

 

“My dad never approved of me. I was always the failure,” sighed Sherlock. “He always saw me as a useless addition to the Holmes family. Me being kicked out and bullied in schools didn’t help either. He would constantly threaten and insult me. I was never good enough, always comparing me to my brother. No matter what I did… no matter how hard I tried to impress him… it was a failure. I am a failure. He doesn’t even see the purpose of me going to school anymore, it’s thanks to mummy that I’m here. But he hates me. My father hates me…”

 

John moved and touched Sherlock’s shoulder. Tears were in his eyes, but he smiled at Sherlock. Sherlock’s vision was starting to blur as well, eyes stinging. He smiled at John. And at that moment, both boys saw and understood. They both felt the understanding that they needed, and had been waiting for all this time.  Sherlock relaxed at John’s touch, despite being so appalled by human contact. He was comfortable with John, he trusted John. He knew that and he found that there was no use fighting against it. John finally saw why Sherlock was the way he was, and he accepted it. And he seemed to feel that he trusted Sherlock. At that moment, both boys were relieved, they weren’t alone in their suffering anymore. They had each other. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here you go guys as promised! Omg I like this chapter and I hope you guys do too!! I apologiser for any mistakes or gaps. Bit cheesy at the end though. AHHA. Please comment and kudos!! I love you guys heaps and I hope I really didn't disappoint any of you with this chapter. More chapters coming soon of course hehe, but there's so much angst ae(: I'm fangirling still over the new Sherlock trailer that had just been released!! (check it out on bbd's youtube channel) ANYWAAAY... i'm scared now. I really hope that this is a good one, (': I love you!! keep doing what you do (': You guys make my day.


	11. Home

Ever since that night, the two boys were inseparable. They would be each others lab partners, Sherlock would go watch John’s football games and John would watch Sherlock’s violin recitals. They were never really without the other. Other students would tease them about how close they were getting but they wouldn’t really mind them. But they would defend each other, especially John when it came to Sherlock. Whenever someone dared to face Sherlock alone, he would dare them to face him instead. Although they knew John was against violence, they were still frightened by him and would back off. Sherlock would complain about being able to fight his own battles but he was still silently grateful.

 

And at night when sometimes things got bad for either of them, the other would be there to listen and to hold and to understand. Sherlock stopped hurting himself, finding comfort in John’s warmth instead. John hadn’t visited his secret spot either, preferring Sherlock’s company. They never found it odd when John held Sherlock in his arms as he cried, or when Sherlock would let John’s head rest on his shoulder as one hand clutched at the curly hair’s clothes. They found it comforting, and they found that they needed it. They needed each other.

 

Sherlock was still cold to everybody but John, although he was of course still Sherlock. And John always noticed that, he didn’t mind at all. John found that he was against violence unless he had to use it for Sherlock. Sherlock observed this too, and he didn’t understand but he knew he liked it. They depended on each other, in more ways than they knew. They were best friends, and in just a matter of months.

 

When mid year break came, and it was time for them to go on a three week vacation back to their families, the two boys really didn’t want to leave. Especially Sherlock, he didn’t want to go back and see and live with his father for 3 weeks. John didn’t mind seeing his mum, but he dreaded having to deal with his sister. But it had to be done, so the two made sure they had each other’s phone numbers before the day they had to go.

_“Sherlock, I swear I am only a phone call or text away.” John reassured Sherlock for what seemed to be like the sixth time that day, Sherlock rolled his eyes._

_“I know Jawwwwwn, and so am I” Sherlock said, smiling._

_“If anything happens, anything at all-“ John started_

_“-I call you or text you.”  Sherlock finished_

_“Please don’t-“_

_“I won’t.”_

_“Okay. It’ll be okay Sherlock, it’ just a few weeks.” John said for the fifth time._

_“I know John. Are you trying to reassure me? Or yourself?” Sherlock smiled, raising an eyebrow._

_John thought for a moment. “Both.”_

_The two boys were packing some of their stuff since the following day was the day of their departure. They had duffel bags filled with clothes and homework and just stuff. They ate dinner in their dorm room that night and talked about their plans for the holidays. There was a slight feeling of sadness but the boys tried to keep it really happy and light. They didn’t sleep that night, staying up to talk and laugh._

 

The both of them stood beside each other by the waiting area and waited for their rides to arrive along with other students. The waiting area had little people when Sherlock and Mycroft’s limo arrived, and oddly enough, despite them holding each other during their lowest times, John and Sherlock merely waved at each other as goodbye. Mycroft, being the observant bystander, raised his eyebrow at this seemingly awkward gesture between the two boys; he knew how close they had gotten. John and Sherlock smiled at each other before their car drove away and disappeared. 

 

Harry’s car arrived shortly after, and John smiled slightly at the driver. He didn’t expect so see his sister behind the wheel and he was quite alarmed. He walked up to the car, duffel bag hanging on his shoulder, and he peered into the open car window.

 

“Why are you driving?” John asked worried, but not wanting to be rude.

 

“What? Get in the car John.” His sister said impatiently.

 

John hesitated, worry clear on his irises.

 

Harry sighed, “I’m sober John, really do you think I would drink and drive while you’re in the car?” She shook her head, offended.

 

John was still doubtful, but he didn’t exactly have a choice, so he climbed into the car and watched in silence as the academy passed by.

 

 

“So how is it in there?” Harry asked when the silence became unbearable.

 

John looked at her quizzically, small talk was never his sister’s thing. They were there for each other whenever they needed each other the most but, they usually just went off into their own worlds.

 

Harry glanced warily in her younger brother’s direction.

 

“Keep your eyes on the road.” John muttered when he met her eye. He was turning his cellphone on and off, thinking whether or not he should text Sherlock.

 

“C’mon John, what’s up?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean, you aren’t usually so cold.”

 

“Well you aren’t usually driving, or sober as a matter of fact. Just worried that I might distract you”

 

“I’m trying okay? I’ve been sober for a while. Ever since you left, mum and I..”

 

This caught John’s interest. “Mum..”

 

“Well she’s getting tired John, and I figured I should try and make my life worth something while I can you know? To help out at least before Johnny becomes top-shot.”

 

John took this in for a minute, and looked at his sister. She was still skinny, frail but she was fuller and she was most definitely happy. There was that glow that was lost so long ago.

 

“You’re in love.” John chuckled.

 

“What?” His sister tried to act indifferent but a smile slowly crept up her face.

 

“What’s her name?”

 

“Clara.”

 

“How long?”

 

“6 months.”

 

John looked at his sister fondly and Harry threw a quick smile at him.

 

“You’ll meet her one day.”

 

“Be happy to”

 

“I missed you John, things haven’t exactly been the same.”

 

“Me too sis, but school is good”

 

“You hardly call or write anymore though!”

 

“Well then we have loads to talk about at dinner tonight then.”

 

Harry chuckled. “Yes we will, Mum will be happy to see you.”

 

“I missed her heaps.”

 

“I know.”

 

 

The ride to the Holmes’ mansion was silent. Mycroft busied himself on his laptop, working. Sherlock looked out the window and just thought of John, and the wonders of emotions. It seemed to be overwhelming him and so, he started counting as much numbers as he could of PI.

 

“Can’t stop thinking of your new friend then?” Mycroft asked when Sherlock accidentally muttered the 567th number of PI.

 

They were more than half way there, and although Sherlock wasn’t eager to get home, he just really wanted to get out of the car.  He turned the phone in his hand over and over, contemplating all the while if he should text John. He didn’t and he remained silent.

 

“What changed?” Mycroft insisted

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, sighing “none of you business, Mycroft”

 

“Oh but it is, either you tell me or I find out from somewhere else Sherlock,” the older brother taunted.

 

“Is John Watson your friend Sherlock?”  He pressed after another long moment of silence.

 

_Oh the million dollar question._

Sherlock has been asking himself that for months. Always giving up because he didn’t know, and so he would push it out of his mind before it became way too much.

 

“I don’t know.” He answered, truthfully.

 

Mycroft just hmmed and smiled. He knew the answer but he wanted Sherlock to know it too. He knew that he had to let Sherlock find the answer to this question on his own. His brother will find out soon enough of course.

 

 

When the car drove up the road that ran across a stretch of old apartment buildings, John felt a feeling of relief. He wasn’t that eager to go home but he certainly missed some parts of it. He grew up here after all, there were some good memories too. Harry parked the car in front of the 4th apartment building. It was at least 7 stories tall, and the white paint had faded and became gray instead. It was old but it was home.

 

John and Harry walked up the stairs to their apartment on the fifth floor. Harry occasionally stopping to catch her breath, remarking on John’s increased fitness.  Eventually they reached their floor and they paused outside the familiar faded wooden door. John took a breath, glanced at Harry (who nodded) and turned the knob.

 

Inside was a mess. There were shattered pieces of glass and furniture all over the carpet. Then there was an awful smell like something was burning. The two siblings just stood by the door, terrified on what might have happened. John had the worst-case scenario playing in his head and he hoped to God that it wasn’t the case. Harry was shaking because she already knew what was up.

 

“Mum?” John shouted, and Harry gripped his arm to tell him to be quiet. He looked at her with a confused expression on his face.  He mouthed a ‘why’ but Harry just shook her head, looking up at him with frightened eyes. What was going on?

 

Then there was a little whimper, a big crash and shuffling of heavy feet coming from the left of John and Harry, which he remembers to be the kitchen. He moved towards it but Harry held unto his arm, shaking her head she did so.

 

“Mum?” John said again.

 

The shuffling of the feet became louder and when it stopped, a figure appeared by the kitchen doorway. A figure that raised goosebumps, a figure that raised John’s temper and a figure that scared the living hell out of Harry.

 

“Hey John.”

 

“Dad.”

 

 

 

Thee limo door was opened for both the brothers and they merely stepped out into their driveway. They left their baggage behind because they knew that there were people who would bring it up to their room and sort it out for them. Mycroft walked ahead of Sherlock. Mycroft walked in a normal pace whilst Sherlock walked as slow as he could. He was definitely in no hurry.

 

 The door was opened for them and they both stepped into the mansion that they called home, polished wooden door, shiny furniture and bright lights. Sherlock hated it all. His mother was standing by the doorway to greet her sons while Mr. Holmes sat by the armchair reading today’s newspaper with his back facing them, a pipe in his mouth.

 

“Mycroft, Sherlock” cooed their mother. Sherlock adored his mother as much as she adored him. That’s just as far as it goes however, it was just adoration not really love. Sherlock knew that his mother loved his father more than her sons, more than anything. But still, she treated Sherlock and Mycroft right and equally. If she favored Mycroft more, she never showed it in front of Sherlock.

 

“Mother,” both boys cooed back. They leaned into their mother’s waiting arms for a hug. Their mother wanted to hold on longer but both boys did not and they pulled away sooner than she liked. “How are you boys?” she asked, looking both boys from head to toe. Taking in their taller and stronger postures.

 

“Good, mother.”

 

“Just fine, mother.”

 

Mother Holmes nodded at them and there was something in her eyes that both her sons saw but ignored. She walked away and towards Mr Holmes to kiss his cheek. “Your sons are here.”

 

“Son.”

 

“C’mon now dear…”

 

“My son is here you mean.”

 

She stayed silent, pain in her features as her husband disregarded her youngest son as his son. She hated it but she made no move to oppose it. She sighed  and threw Sherlock an almost sympathetic look.  Sherlock’s face stayed expressionless. A moment ago, he had this slight hope that his mother would defend him, but he knew she wouldn’t. She never has and she never will.

 

“Mycroft.” Their father said.

 

“Yes father, I’m here.” Mycroft moved to greet his father and sit at the chair opposite him. _Like a little puppy, Sherlock thought._

 

Mrs. Holmes moved to sit to the armchair beside Mr. Holmes and the three started to chat. Sherlock stood there by the doorway, hurt and angry. He stood merely a few meters away but he felt like he could have been on the other side of the world. They ignored him, and he stood there waiting for something. Maybe an invitation, or even a slight nod, but there was nothing. He was invisible for all he knew. He wasn’t part of this family, he wasn’t part of any family. He never really was. It was just always mother, father and Mycroft. He was alone.

 

His eyes were threatening to spill out all the anger and sadness he felt. So he simply walked up the long golden-railed stairwell to his room in silence. Blocking out the chatter from below, blocking out the murmured greetings that passed him, blocking out everything because he couldn’t take it anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRRYYYY FOR THE SUPER SUPER SUPER LATE UPLOAD. I HAVE NO EXCUSES REALLY BUT HERE IT IS AND I'M WORKING ON CHAPTER 12 RIGHT AFTER I POST THIS. I AM SO SO SO SORRY!! But I hope you guys like this chapter, it isn't much but I think I like it. Please continue to kudos and comment and you guys are just so fab and amazing. I love you guyyys. Thanks for reading and if you wanna talk or anything just inbox me. Your comments keep me going!! Thank you <3


	12. Help

John gritted his teeth to keep himself from cursing at his father. It’s not that he respected him, it’s just that he saw it a sign of stooping down to the level of his dad, and John would rather slit his wrists than do that.

 

“What are you doing here?” John asked, tensed and unconsciously stepping in front of his sister to protect her, as he had always done.

 

“C’mon john, is that how you greet your father that you haven’t seen in what? More than a year now?” His dad drunkenly mumbled. He had a beer in one hand and his face was clearly unshaven. His clothes were ragged and dirty.

 

“What are you doing here?” John asked again, his anger showing.

 

“I wanted to see you, your sister and your mother.” This time he tried to look as sincere as he could, his arms raised up  as if to show a sign of welcome. John would have been taken in if not for the drunken swig he took right after.

 

His mother appeared from the kitchen. Slowly, shaking and trembling.  She had a bruise forming on the right side of her temple, and another bruise on her right shoulder. John nearly fell on his knees to cry.

 

Despite her weakened state, she made her way past Mr. Watson to greet her children. There was a smile forming on her lips as she gave a frozen but not so tensed John a hug- casting a moment’s wary glance at Harry. When she released John, her younger son (who was taller than her) looked down at her with fright and tons of questions swimming in his eyes.

 

She merely smiled up at him. Telling him through her eyes that it’ll be alright. Tears started to leak out of the corners of John’s eyes as he looked at his mother, the love and pain in her every feature. They were doing so well, they were getting better, why did she have to let him in again? Doesn’t she understand? Doesn’t she know?

 

 

Sherlock was restless. He moved about in his bedroom, not knowing what to do.  He knew what he wanted to do but he knew he shouldn’t.  He needed a distraction. So he set up his test tubes and cylinders to conduct some kind of experiment that he forced himself to think of. He came up with theories that didn’t make sense, and as hard as he tried to observe and deduce, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t focus; his mind had bad and painful memories staring to rush in. And it was way more than he could handle.

 

He started moving about again, willing to forget, willing to stop himself from remembering. But nothing could really stop the insults and memories and pain from flooding his mind. And he was still trying and trying as much as he could but it was too much and Sherlock fell onto the carpeted floor, and he grabbed his pillow to sob into it.

 

A familiar urge started to rise into Sherlock. One that he hadn’t done in a very long time, one that he suddenly found that he needed in time like this, it was something to numb the pain inside. He reached for the hidden box of steel. He remembered always asking for new sharpeners, telling mummy that he had lost it, but really the sharpeners just lost their abilities to be useful. Sherlock collected them, and he always saw them as his friends. They were the only ones who were there as he cried and as he made his wrists scarlet. They listened to his mumbled words and he seemed to know that they knew his deepest fears.

 

As he grabbed one blade, he positioned the blade above his wrist. But stopped himself as his mind suddenly had a picture of someone. A very clear memory, a warming and calming memory that made Sherlock happy. Sherlock closed his eyes, took a deep breath as he tried to stop himself from crying further. He looked across the room at the object that was on his desk. He crawled towards it, unsure but still going. He reached up for the object and stared at it as he held it on his palm.

 

He took another deep breath as he pressed the number on speed dial.

 

 

John was in his old room. Everything was still where he had left it, the desk by the window, the bed across the room and the tiny closet by the door.  The sheets had been definitely changed of course, the room still occasionally cleaned. But the smell was still there, and he didn’t know whether he was happy or sad.

 

He dropped the duffel bag in the middle of the wooden unpolished floor of his bedroom, and sat at the edge of his bed with his head burrowed into his palms. His sobs started out soft, almost soundless but as his thoughts started to rush in further, his sobs grew louder and he grabbed a pillow to minimize the noise. He couldn’t stop crying and he would never admit it, but he was frightened.  The memories of his childhood overwhelmed him. The beatings, the abuse the words and the cruelty… suddenly he felt like a child again.  Suddenly, he felt so useless and powerless.

 

He noticed a slight vibration that was coming from somewhere, and he lifted up his face from the pillow to listen further, his sobs softer as he did so. The sound was coming from the duffel bag that he had plopped down onto he floor. He considered ignoring it, but he had a feeling that it was important. He stood up and dragged the duffel bag to the edge of his bed and he sat on the floor with his bag against the bedframe. He grabbed the object that was causing the vibration and started at the caller on the screen. Once it registered in his brain who was calling, a calming warmth spread through him and he didn’t hesitate answering it.

 

“Sherlock?” Cheery but still he tried his best to keep his voice from cracking.

 

There was a pause for a bit and then John heard broken sobs from the other end of the line. Suddenly his chest hurt and it hurt him just like it always did whenever he knew Sherlock was like this.  

 

“Sherlock? What happened? What’s wrong?” He was anxious, and he cursed school-holidays in his head.  He wanted nothing more than to be there with him. He couldn’t think of anything else that wasn’t Sherlock.

 

“Jo-John?” Sherlock mumbled in between sobs. Sherlock hated this, he hated being so weak and hated having to bother John because he was so broken. He needed John and that wasn’t a lie, to hear his voice a warmth had spread through him and it triggered more sobs. He wouldn’t have called though, even if he wanted to, if he knew that John wouldn’t be upset if Sherlock didn’t call him especially during times like these.

 

“Hey Sherlock what happened?” Gentle as ever, warming as ever.

 

“Can I?” Sherlock mumbled, half hoping that John didn’t understand and yet hoping that he did. He’s sobbing had softened a little, but now his chest was hurting.

 

John knew right away what he meant, he knew Sherlock well enough to know. “No. Sherlock. No, absolutely not.” His voice was firm.

 

“Please… I need to” begged Sherlock, his voice cracking and sobs getting louder again.

 

“No, please Sherlock you don’t need to.” John counter-begged. His voice soft and worried. What happened?

 

“John,” Sherlock whispered, “Please.”

 

“Sherlock no, I’m here. You don’t need to, please just please don’t hurt yourself.” John begged, his voice was quiet but it was cracking.

 

“John… I” Sherlock trailed off, something was at the tip of his tongue but he wasn’t sure if he should say it.

 

There was a pause. John knew better than to press the boy to continue. And the two boys sat on the floor and John started to cry because he too was broken, and Sherlock felt the same pain as he always did whenever John broke down like this. He wasn’t as broken as Sherlock was, and he cried less often. But that was what made it so much more painful. 

 

“John.”

 

“Sherlock.” The boys said unison. Broken, cracked and shattered their voices were. The need and longing hinted in their voices.

 

There was silence once more.

 

“Sherlock pleas-“

 

“John, I need you.”

 

John felt suddenly warm again. And although Sherlock was anxious about it, he felt relieved to have been able to admit that out loud. He didn’t mean to of course, it had slipped his tongue due to the moment.

 

“I need you too.” John mumbled, smiling as the last remaining tears leaked out. 

 

“Can you come over?” Sherlock whispered, hoping and praying.

 

“Sherlock- my dad….”

 

Sherlock’s heart stopped, he knew.

 

“Can’t leave them” Sherlock stated, seeming disappointed but he understood

 

“My mum…” John trailed off, the image of his bruised mother vivid in his head.

 

“Would you like me to come over?” Sherlock offered, he would do anything to get out of this bloody awful place. He won’t call it home, he refused to even think of it as one. Home is warmth and home is happiness. John showed him that, Sherlock realized.  John was warmth and John was happiness, wasn’t he? Then wouldn’t that mean…

 

Sherlock shook the thought out of his mind. It frightened and warmed him in a way.

 

John chuckled, “and bring you into this mess? No. We’ll find a way Sherlock… Calls and texts will have to do until we do meet up. Look at us, it hasn’t even been a day and we’re already missing and needing each other.”

 

Sherlock smiled at that. “So till we do meet up can I..?”

 

“No. Sherlock. I’m here, just call me just as I will call you. Do it for me, please.”

 

John was begging, worry and plead in his voice. But there was a sense of promise and sincerity.

 

“Alright…”

 

“Promise me.”

 

“John…”

 

“Please Sherlock promise me.”

 

“Fine, I promise.”

 

“Pinky promise?”

 

“Is that necessary? What are you a 5 year old girl?” Sherlock retorted.

 

“Please Sherlock.” Much as John was amused, this was sincere.

 

“I do.”

 

“Do what?”

 

“you know”

 

John was close to bursting into giggles, “you have to say it, or else it won’t be real.”

 

“You sound like a child.” Chuckled Sherlock, he was finding this…. Adorable. If it was anyone else it would have annoyed him, but since it was John (this he found odd) it was alright.

 

“Sherlock.” John mock-begged, laughing.

 

“it’s ridiculous!”

 

“Sherlock if you don’t say it then I’m giving you the silent treatment for 5 minutes.” John threated, all in a serious voice.

 

“What a harsh punishment, we wouldn’t want that now would we?” Sherlock was laughing now. Which he found once again odd since this whole thing started with such a sorrowful note.

 

“You would be so tortured,” John mocked, “I mean it though, 5 minutes Sherlock.”

 

“Alright alright, I give up. I pinky promise.”

 

There was a pause and then the two teenagers burst out laughing. It sounded so silly, hearing Sherlock Holmes say such childish words.

 

“You utter git!” john exclaimed in between giggles.

 

The boys’ laughter was interrupted by a knock on John’s door, the both of them catching their breaths and slowly turning cautious. The door opened slightly, and in came John’s dad. Sherlock stayed on the phone, silent and holding his breath. He knew that john’s dad was in the room due to the seemingly tensed silence there was.

 

“Who’s on the phone?” his father asked

 

“A friend.” John answered, simply.

 

It still made Sherlock feel happy to hear that. Despite any situation he was in, a giddy happy feeling would still spread throughout his body whenever John proclaimed that he was his friend. This may seem insignificant to others, but to someone who has never had a friend for all 15 years of his life, it was one of the happiest feelings in the world.

 

Sherlock’s smile disappeared as he heard a door close and footsteps retreat from the other line, John whispered urgently on the phone, “I have to go…”

 

“I’ll stay John, leave me on.” Both of them were surprised at this. But Sherlock didn’t take it back.

 

“Sherlock, I don’t know where this might lead…” John whispered again, urgently.

 

“I don’t care. Leave me on.” His voice was final and sure. After all, he needed a distraction to keep his mind of everything else or he would crash again. He wanted to be there with John but this was the closest he could get at the moment.

 

John was about to say something but the door opened again. Sherlock heard shuffling of feet and he heard the phone hit something. Perhaps John had laid the phone down unto the bed. Judging by the clarity of the sounds, Sherlock deduced that the phone was set with the back cover up, the screen faced down. Sherlock paid very close attention.

 

“John.” A man with a deep husky voice spoke in a drunken state.

 

“What?” John snapped, firm and strong. No doubt he would be looking the grown man in the eyes, Sherlock remarked in his head. He knew John though, and only he could detect the slight hint of fear that filled John’s voice.

 

“John, look. I’m sorry,” the drunken man slurred “give me a second chance.”

 

Sherlock heard a snort, and he would have done the very same thing if he wasn’t trying to be quiet.

 

“Sorry? Really?”

 

“John, I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I’m getting better.” His father pleaded with slurred words that barely made sense.

 

“YOU JUST HIT HER!” John shouted, “GETTING BETTER MY ASS” Sherlock was frightened of this side of John. It was different from the ‘angry-John’ that would defend him in school or the one who would shout at him sometimes. Sherlock realized that maybe those times John was just annoyed, this time he was really angry. But John wasn’t just angry, Sherlock heard the hurt in his voice and this seemed to cause a knife to turn in Sherlock’s stomach.

 

“WATCH YOUR MOUTH WITH ME BOY.” His father shouted back. This man had some nerve, Sherlock was aghast.

 

“WHY?” Countered John, “WHY DO I HAVE TO DO ANYTHING FOR YOU? WHAT DID YOU DO FOR US?”

 

“WHY YOU FUCKING BASTARD. SHOW ME SOME RESPECT.” The man shouted back. There was a wooshing sound, a loud crash and then a loud thud. It sounded like a bottle shattering into pieces, and Sherlock’s eyes widened as he realized that the man might have just thrown an alcohol bottle at John.

 

There was no sound but the ragged breaths that came from the other side of the line. Sherlock was growing anxious and he wanted so much to ask John if he was alright, but he knew he couldn’t. There was a rush of footsteps and then the thud of the doorknob hitting the wall as someone pushed the door open.

 

“Wha-“

 

“Ohmygod  John.”

 

There were two female voices. And Sherlock quickly deduced that the woman with the deeper voice was John’s mother. Both females were in shock. There was still no sound from John, and this just worried Sherlock more.

 

“WHAT DID YOU DO!?” the woman with the deeper voice exclaimed, no doubt at the man but really wasn’t it obvious? Mused Sherlock.

 

“John-John. Ohmygod John.” The other female had gone closer, as Sherlock could hear her anxious whispers. She was beside John. Comforting? Sherlock’s heart was beating too fast. Was John okay? Is he alright?

 

Then Sherlock heard a moan. An anguished sound that no doubt had come from John. This was not good. Not good at all, what happened. Oh god.

 

“Shit. John. Stop biting your lip, you’re making it bleed. If it’s painful just scream.” Harry urgently said. Worry so clear in her voice. This just made it worse for Sherlock: _John’s in pain._ And the knife in his stomach twisted further and his heart seemed to have stopped.

 

 _No_. John thought. _If I stop biting my lip, I’ll definitely scream and I can’t scream._ He meant to say this but that would mean parting his lips, and that would make the whole lip-biting-to-stop-from-screaming-in-pain useless. So John just shook his head at his sister. His vision was getting blurry and everything sounded like there was a big cotton ball in his ears. He could feel the stinging pain that came from the left of his shoulder. He wanted to scream, but he reminded himself that Sherlock was still on the phone. Oh god, he must be so worried. Screaming would also mean giving his father satisfaction, and John couldn’t bear that but oh god it was so painful.

 

John could see the blurred figure of his mother screaming at his father, and he tried to focus on the anxious look on his sister’s face as she wrapped something around his shoulder. He bit harder on his lip as she tightened the cloth on his arm, and he closed his eyes as tears leaked out from the corners. John looked at his left shoulder, not hearing or seeing anything else. All he could really see was how quickly the white cloth was becoming red.

 

His lip was swollen and bleeding. And he was suddenly feeling very faint from the pain of it all. He reached for the cellphone on the bed and mumbled “I’m fine” as convincingly as he could, then he pressed the end call button as quickly as he could.

 

Sherlock couldn’t breathe. John was in pain. Sherlock couldn’t stop thinking about the whole thing, and it hurt him even more as he replayed the pained mumble of john’s try at reassuring Sherlock. No one would believe it but even after all that, John was still thinking of making sure that Sherlock thought he was okay. But he heard the shouts and he had to do something, so he dialed the number again and after a few rings, a frantic voice answered.

 

“Hello? Now isn’t a very good time” A frantic voice answered.

 

Sherlock could hear more crashing and banging from the other side of the line. He could hear John’s moans of pain and the shouts for more water and cloth.

 

“We can pay for it.” Sherlock said urgently, “please call an ambulance”

 

“What? Who is this? How did you-“ the voice filled with disbelief, shock and even a hint of anger.

 

“Please just call an ambulance. This is Sherlock Holmes, a friend of John’s. We’ll cover the expenses, please.” Pleaded Sherlock. He knew that from the description and shouting that he heard, he knew that John was very badly hurt.

 

“How did you kno-“

 

“Please Ms. Watson, we’re losing time. John needs to be admitted. Call an ambulance and admit him to the Holmes Hospital.”

 

“But-“

 

“Please.”

 

“Al-rright.” Ms. Watson stammered, and she shouted an order to Harry to dial the ambulance.

“thank you.” Sherlock whispered, not meaning for the woman to hear. Sherlock was very alert now, and he found that he didn’t care for anything else. He heard moaning from the other end of the line, moans of protest.

 

“Sherlock…” John huffed into the phone.  His voice ragged and so weak, Sherlock didn’t know why but it was breaking him.

 

“John, hold on. The ambulance should be coming soon.” Sherlock reassured.

 

“No, Sherlock. Don’t, I don’t need to.” John stammered. Gritting his teeth in pain as his mother pressed some more pressure unto the wound.

 

“Please John, shut up. It’ll be okay.” Worry was clear in the curly hair’s voice.

 

“Sherl..”

 

The loud sirens that were coming closer drowned John’s voice out. And then the line went dead as voices of paramedics filled the room. Sherlock felt relieved, even a little bit, knowing that John would get proper treatment at least. He knew that he needed to be there, he wouldn’t be able to just sit around waiting for news about John. He made his way down the stairs, as he was about to do something that he never thought he would ever do.

 

“Dad. I need to ask for a favour.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS SO LATE OMG. BUT I HAVE GOOD REASON! ((: ANYWAAAAY I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS CHAPTER, MORE TO COME OF COURSE <3 BUT THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR CONTINUING TO READ AND COMMENT AND FOR BEARING WITH MY INCAPABILITY TO UPDATE REGULARLY. I love you guys so much and you have no idea how much you guys keep me going. I hope you all had a wonderful fabulous Christmas because I did. Keep commenting, reading and doing what you do! <3 AAAHHH I honestly like where this is going >.


	13. Hospital

Sherlock rushed into John’s hospital room, worry and tension clear in every feature. He found John asleep, with a bandage around his left shoulder and a needle pierced through his  left forearm. John had been dosed heavily with morphine during the operation that the doctors had just conducted to take out the remaining pieces of glass that had stuck into John’s skin. It was bad enough for at least 3 stitches to patch the skin up, which would no doubt leave a nasty scar.

 

Sherlock felt a familiar sting in his eyes, and he blinked the tears away before they could spill. John looked so… broken and weak. Sherlock always found John to be strong and tough, and it hurt to see him so vulnerable. He was about to sit unto the chair beside John’s bed when the door swung open, revealing his father. Sherlock stood up straight immediately, his whole body tensing and his mind reeling. He was afraid but one thought replied in his mind

 

_Whatever he might want or do, it’ll be alright because it’s for John._

 

The clik-clak of his shoes echoed against the tile floor as Mr. Holmes entered the hospital room, his back straight and his chin in the air. He looked about in the room first, then he looked at Sherlock then to John then back to Sherlock, his face indicating his interest in the matter at hand. Sherlock wanted to crower under the gaze of his father but he stayed still and waited for the man to speak.

 

“What is so special about this boy Sherlock?” His father regarded him with a gentle voice, much to Sherlock’s utter surprise.

 

Sherlock stammered a bit, he had asked the question a thousand times to himself, and after a little- he decided on an answer “he’s my friend.”

 

“Ahh.. a friend, Sherlock, what have I told about caring?” His father asked, his eyes filling with disappointment. This scared Sherlock more than the yelling.

 

“That-That it isn’t an advantage.” Sherlock gulped, he didn’t believe that anymore. Not when it came to John.

 

“Yes, it isn’t. Do you know why?” His father spat, staring at him. Sherlock looked him straight in the eyes but he certainly knew better than to answer the question.

 

Mr. Holmes smiled in a menacing way, “Because it makes us ordinary. It makes us weak, vulnerable and small. It can always be used against us, and it is to look down upon us. Great people do not care for others Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock was about to say something but Mr. Holmes wasn’t finished, “a fine example of this is you. You look so pathetic and vulnerable all because of your care for this boy,” he gestured at John with a disgusted look and a flick of his wrist, “you are a disgrace Sherlock.”

 

Although theses words hurt, Sherlock simply cared more about whether or not his favor will be granted. So he didn’t cower nor did he answer. He simply waited, patiently as much as he could for his father to speak further.

 

“I will grant you this one favor Sherlock, and you will be in my debt.” His father said sternly. “this is to show you how weak and how low caring makes you.”

 

Sherlock really just cared about the fact that his favor would be granted. He didn’t mind paying for it later –no matter what the payment might be- just as long as he knew that John would be okay. So Sherlock just nodded at his father in all respect and swallowed as his father left the room, only raising an eyebrow at his son before he walked away.

 

Sherlock turned back to John and sat on the seat beside him. The blonde was still asleep and the only sounds that could be heard were the beeps of the monitor and the drops of the IV. Sherlock looked at his friend, then looked around to make sure that there wasn’t anyone close by and that the door was shut. He released a long shaky breath as he looked at John’s sleeping face and began to speak.

 

“You are an utter idiot John,” Sherlock spoke with worry, sincerity and amazement in his voice. He kept his voice low; this was his chance to say the things that he felt needed to be said –regardless whether or not John could hear. “You could have died. You could have bled to death-don’t tell me it isn’t true because it is-the doctors told me what could have happened if you weren’t brought to medical attention. You are an utter idiot. The biggest idiot I’ve ever known, and believe me I’ve met a lot of idiots.

 

“You’re an idiot John, because you’re too brave and too loving and too caring. I don’t understand this. But you are the bravest, kindest and even the wisest person I have ever known. I know you were scared, and yet you faced that and you always protected me. You have stayed by my side despite my ridiculousness and you have taught me something that I never knew I was capable of. You taught me to care, John. You’ve showed me the beauty of that. When you and your father started to argue, I was so scared. I was afraid I would lose you. And that’s why I’m saying this now, because I realized that throughout the time we’ve spent together, I haven’t told you yet how much you’ve changed me.”

 

Sherlock had his fingers under his chin as silent tears flowed from the corners of his eyes, his eyes were focused on the ceiling as he spoke. But his eyes would occasionally travel to John’s face.

 

“I’m kind of glad you’re unconscious though,” the curly boy chuckled, “or I would have never been able to say this to you. This is sentiment John. Look what you’ve done to me. I can’t lose you John, not in any way. Please don’t go, I know I might not be deserving, but please don’t leave.” This was a whisper, his eyes closed in almost like a silent prayer.

 

“I won’t.”

 

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open in shock as he heard the soft and croaky reply. John’s eyes were open, tears had leaked out of the corners of his eyes and he had a smile on his face. Sherlock was panicking. He hadn’t meant to wake John, nor did he mean for John to hear what he said.

 

“Jo-Jo-h,” stammered Sherlock, “I didn’t mean to wake you. Do you need anything? I’ll call for the nurse.” Sherlock quickly stood up, reaching for the nurse call button that John had gripped tight and snatched away. Sherlock hoped that acting like nothing happened would make the situation less embarrassing.

 

“Sherlock.. Sherlock stop it,” John coughed. “You didn’t wake me, I don’t need anything, sit down!” John said as loudly as he could, looking Sherlock directly in the eyes. The curly haired boy took a deep breath, nodded and sat down fearfully.

 

They looked at each other in silence, neither really knowing what to say.

 

“Did-did you mean that?” John whispered, sounding almost breathless. Whether it was because he was in pain or surprised, neither knew.

 

Sherlock just looked at him, thinking. He wondered if he acted dumb and told John he was hearing things due to the medication that was given to him, that John would believe and disregard everything he might have heard. Even though he knew he should do this, there was a feeling in his chest that ached because he knew that he wanted John to _know._

 

As if he could read Sherlock’s mind, John spoke again “and don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about or that I’m hearing things, because I very well heard you.”

 

John was smirking at Sherlock. John had a smug look about in his face, but his chest had tightened and he was feeling warm all over as he replayed every word that Sherlock said when he thought he couldn’t hear. He never thought that Sherlock felt that way. Sherlock the greatest man he had ever known. The genius and the brilliant, felt that way towards John. And that made John swell with happiness and disbelief.

 

Sherlock sighed, “yes. Fine. Every word.” Scared to see John’s reaction.

 

John released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He smiled at Sherlock, “you utter git.” Sherlock smiled at him, he knew that it was okay. And he felt relieved, and a wave of happiness swept through him. The two boys were content with silence after that, forgetting about the whole situation for a bit and just loving the presence of each other. John wanted to say something too, to tell Sherlock how important he was to him. He found those kind of things hard but if Sherlock Holmes could do it, then so could John right? However, he wasn’t able to because someone had opened the door and their little happy moment ended.

 

It was Harry and Mrs. Watson who entered the room. The two women looking grave but grateful, they looked at John and Sherlock with a small smile.  Sherlock started to get up, and John was almost tempted to grab the curly boy’s hand and pull him to sit back down. Mrs. Watson clasped Sherlock’s hand-much to his surprise-and whispered a thank you, tears starting to spill. Sherlock nodded slightly as she replaced him on the chair. Harry smiled at Sherlock before he walked out the door, and Sherlock dipped his head slightly again to acknowledge the thanks.

 

He buried his hands in his pockets as he made his way down to the reception, he didn’t want to leave but he knew he had to. Usually he wouldn’t care but this was John. Everything was different when it came to John.  He passed the reception and he kept walking, not really knowing where to go but not afraid to get lost as he knew the streets well. His mind was reeling. Replaying memories and moments, then thinking of ideas. His main problem was the holidays really, and how he and John were separated into houses that they would love to escape from. He kept walking as he tried to think of solutions, not really looking where he was going and just trusting his feet.

 

Then for no reason at all, other than a compelling feeling, he stopped walking. And as he looked around to see where his feet had led him, he was only half surprised to find that he was standing in front of the gates of the St. Bart’s Academy.

 

“Of course! Obvious! How could I not think of that?” Sherlock exclaimed out loud, not caring whether or not people stared. He quickly rushed back to the hospital, happy and content at his realization.

 

“John, I’m so sorry.” Mrs. Watson said for about the 600th time and each time John would reply with the same “it’s okay mum, it’s not really your fault. I’m sorry for the trouble.” Harry held John’s hand, still crying.

 

“Guys seriously it’s alright.” John said exasperatedly. He was way too tired for this really, he hardly felt the pain in his shoulder due to the morphine they had given him and he just wanted to rest. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell them to leave.

 

“Where’s dad?” John finally asked, all three of them knew it was eventually going to be brought up.

 

“He’s..” Mrs. Watson hesitated

 

“At home.” Harry finished, ignoring the glare her mother threw at her.

 

John’s heart stopped. “right, uhm…why?”

 

“I don’t know John.”

 

“Mum, what are you doing really? I thought he was out of our lives for good?” John tried very hard not to yell, it hurt his throat and he didn’t want to upset his mother-he just wanted to know.

 

“It’s complicated…”

 

Harry snorted.

 

“I can’t...” John started, _I can’t go home there. Not when he’s there._ But he knew he didn’t have a choice, where else would he go? Once the doctors clear him to check out (which they no doubt will soon), he would have nowhere else to stay for the rest of the god forsaken holidays. He thought of friends he could stay with but he knew that they would wonder and plus he would have to explain the shoulder. He thought of Sherlock’s too, but Sherlock has already given so much. John didn’t want to interfere more and cause trouble. And anyway, he can’t leave his sister and mother there with his father right.

 

So he was stuck. He felt like he was going to start crying again.

 

Then there was a slight knock on the door and it creaked open to reveal a slightly out of breath but happy Sherlock.

 

“John?”

 

John smiled, “come in Sherlock.”

 

The teen only saw John, he ignored the others around him because quite frankly he didn’t care. He only cared about what John thought and what John was about to say. Sherlock was ecstatic.

 

“John I have an idea…”

 

“ohhh boy…”

 

“shut up, listen, I have an idea about the holidays.”

 

“yes? What about?”

 

Sherlock paused, and John waited. John was eager now too but Sherlock didn’t know how to phrase it.

 

“I know where we can stay.” He said finally

 

John blinked, “where?”

 

“At school! In our dorms”

 

“what? “

 

“Well I hate my house, and I obviously can’t stay at yours and really I need to get out. Plus I know you hate it at yours too-what with your father still living there, I know because it was confirmed by your mother and sister’s expressions- and I would hate for you to have to deal with my family. And really I can’t believe I haven’t thought of it before, but it’s just obvious where to go!” Sherlock explained in a flurry of words that no doubt only John could have caught due to practice.

 

Still john was surprised.

 

“Unless, of course you have other places to go to…” Sherlock trailed off after a while of silence.

 

John blinked. “No of course not. Is it okay? With the school to stay during the hols?”

 

“Probably…”

 

“Probably?”

 

“We’ll get the details later, so yes?” Sherlock was giddy. He had a 99.9% certainty that John would say yes. Anyone would, it was logical. But John always tended to surprise him so there was still that .1% chance of doubt.

 

John looked at his mother and sister. Asking with his eyes if it was okay. He wanted to go but he knew that he couldn’t leave them yet.

 

“John, go. If it’s alright with the school, then it’s best you stay there with Sherlock.” Mrs. Watson reassured. She was relieved really, and both boys could see that.

 

“But..”

 

“John, really we’ve made it without you. Maybe we’ll come by some time during the three weeks or you can visit us. It’s honestly better without you there while dad’s there (no offense).” Harry smiled.

 

John understood, smiled and nodded. Worried but also relieved.

 

“Alright Sherlock. Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG. IM SO SORRRRRYYY FOR SUCH THE LONG UPDATE, I HAVE MISSED THE INTERNET SO MUCH TOO. HOLIDAYS ARE ENDING OH GOD. IM SO SORRY. ALSO, GUYS, THIS IS IGNORING THE TWO RECENT EPISODES OKAY? IF YOU HAVENT SEEN THEM THEN YOU REALLY MUST. BUT NO SPOILERS HERE OBVIOUSLY (: I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS ONE. I FEEL LIKE THIS STORY IS GOING TO END SOON, IM NOT SURE. BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE ITTTT!! I LOVE YOU GUYSSSS<3 KEEP COMMENTING AND KUDOS-ING BECAUSE THEY HELP ME KEEP WRITING. TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK? (: DO YOU GUYS LIKE WHERE THE STORY IS GOING? OR HOW IT'S GOING? IS IT TOO SLOW? TOO DARK? TOO UNCHARACTERISTIC? ANY SUGGESTIONS? THEYRE ALLLLL WELCOME <3

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so it's my first time writing a johnlock fanfiction and I'm really sorry if it's horrible. I'm terribly terribly sorry for the bad description and for any mistakes I've made, I just woke up and I have exams in 45 minutes but I couldn't resist. I hope you guys enjoy this though and I promise to try and make it better. Please do leave comments, I like that. I'll try to update as soon as I possibly can. Tally-ho!


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